


Silver Soul

by dracoismytrashson (JGogoboots)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco is Harry's queerness guru, First Kiss, First Time, HP: EWE, Harry loves the kind of old horror movies you'd find on MST3K, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Muggles, Post-War, Rimming, Scar Worship, Scar porn?, general indulgent ridiculousness, not sure how to tag the scar thing but it's def a thing, so many music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/dracoismytrashson
Summary: It's about a year after the war, and Draco is a bit of a London hipster working at a record store. Harry is lonely and confused about what to do with his life so hanging out with Draco and listening to shoegaze records to pass the time seems like a perfectly viable option.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I don't know WHY I had this persistent urge to write Drarry wooing each other with Slowdive and Beach House, but I've been reading a lot of post-war "Draco hides/lives in Muggle London" fics and this idea just would. not. leave. me. alone. 
> 
> Sorry if this only appeals to me and no one else haha, but hopefully at least a couple people out there dig it. 
> 
> Also, I know the books take place in the 90s but the films are clearly post millennium so timeline is a bit dubious. I'm making it about 2010 if we're judging by the records mentioned. :)

When Harry walked into Hacienda Records*, the last thing he expected to greet him was the icy, otherworldly stare of Draco Malfoy. 

"Potter." It was said matter-of-factly, a detached observation that held none of the former malice that Harry had grown accustomed to hearing from that patrician voice. Harry was surprised to find that the flat inflection made him deflate a little. It wasn't that he wished for the familiarity of that disdainful tone, but...there was something vaguely disappointing in the total absence of notable reaction, all things considered.  

"Malfoy...um, hi." Harry winced at the stilted sound of his own voice, but he was rather stunned and fumbling for words at that moment. Not only was Malfoy behind the counter of a record shop sorting through a bin of LPs like he  _worked_  there, but he was wearing Muggle clothes and looking quite comfortable in them nonetheless. His black and blue striped jumper stood out in stark contrast against his ivory complexion, the cords of his slender neck taut as he craned his head in Harry's direction. His white blonde hair was longer than it had been the last time Harry saw him but still impeccably layered and sideswept, long bangs draped across his forehead and ending just below the curve of the top of his ear. 

"Do you work here?" Harry asked, hoping he was successfully eradicating any note of shock from the question, knowing Malfoy would probably take it the wrong way and deliver some hostile barb in retaliation.

"Yeah." Curt and without elaboration. "Do you need help finding anything?"

There was that tone again, devoid of emotion. Was Malfoy actually...just being professional? Perish the thought.

"Yeeahh, actually," Harry drawled hesitantly. "I was looking for this Slowdive record - "

"Souvlaki? The one that was just reissued?"

Harry nodded in a trance of confusion as Malfoy stepped out from behind the counter. Harry took in the sight of his formfitting black skinny jeans tucked into scuffed black Dr. Martens and tried (and failed) not to stare open-mouthed when he beckoned for Harry to follow him. He took him to a display rack of new releases, plucked a copy of the record he had requested, and handed it to Harry. As Harry grasped it with tentative fingers, curiosity began to gnaw at his insides. It was becoming increasingly difficult to swallow the questions bubbling up his throat and threatening to spill forth. 

"Thanks."

Malfoy nodded with the barest twitch at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t quite a smile, but simply a smoothing of the tense line of his pale mouth that at least broadcasted civility if nothing else. He turned to go back to his post, and Harry resisted the urge to follow, to tap his thin shoulder and ask what the hell he was doing here and how it had happened.

Feeling too awkward to march up to the counter and actually  _buy_ a record from Malfoy in a Muggle London shop, the whole thing seeming like some kind of surreal fever dream he was simply not ready to accept as reality, he browsed for a bit, relieved when a bearded guy in a beanie came to trade places with Malfoy to man the counter in his stead. Seizing the opportunity, Harry checked out and left quickly, head abuzz with a mixture of emotions he couldn’t parse just yet.

Unfortunately, Harry's in-a-rush stance tended to involve a lot of eye contact with the ground, so when he rounded the corner outside the shop, hugging the edge too closely, he collided with Malfoy. His cigarette narrowly missed singing the fabric of Harry's jacket.

"Christ, Potter, where are you barreling toward like a wildebeest?"

Harry looked up to see Malfoy's angular face, sharp jawline and high cheekbones always adding to that air of elitism that surrounded him.

"Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Clearly." Malfoy tapped his cigarette, ashing on the ground before taking a long drag. Harry didn’t move, didn’t blink, only stared dumbfounded. Aware that he was looking more ridiculous with every passing second, Harry tried to unglue his frozen feet from the pavement, but they failed to cooperate.

"So, I know it's none of my business or anything, but...how did you end up here?" Harry motioned toward the record store although he may as well have been gesturing to all of Muggle London. "Sorry...it's hard not to be curious."

Malfoy exhaled a plume of smoke out of the left corner of his mouth and nodded. The way he did it was almost sympathetic. There was no obstinance to be found, no retort at the ready about how Potter is a nosy git who doesn't have the right to ask.

“I didn't exactly feel at ease in the magical world anymore, and that sentiment was reflected back at me everywhere I turned. Being anonymous for a while was an attractive choice after..." His bright eyes went dark for a second, and he chewed on his bottom lip. "Everything."

Harry nodded with a shy smile.

"What about you, Potter? What's the Chosen One up to these days?" It startled him that Malfoy even asked, but what really threw him for a loop was the playful way he threw out the term, 'Chosen One,' with the barest hint of a smile instead of spitting it out like discarded poison. 

"I...haven't really chosen a path, much to the dismay of everyone around me. Being in limbo was an attractive choice after everything I guess,” He admitted, mirroring Malfoy’s phrasing.

"You've been through the wringer about ten times over. Anyone who begrudges you a little break is an arsehole, honestly. It hasn't even been a year."

Harry looked at him, astonished mouth agape, and Malfoy just shrugged like it was nothing, like they weren't arch enemies for the better part of a decade. Dredging up all the past pettiness out of habit seemed so pointless after everything that had come to pass, especially in the last couple of years, but Harry wouldn't have banked on Malfoy feeling that way. It was nice to know he did, even if it was only how he felt in that particular moment. 

"Well, I have to get back." Malfoy tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground, squashed it beneath the toe of his boot, and shot Harry an inscrutable glance. It was probably the most pleasant exchange they'd ever had, but there was still unease swirling in the atmosphere, some immovable force separating them that Harry suddenly wished he could penetrate. It was hard to make solid connections with people these days, hard to find anyone who understood what he was going through and didn’t walk on eggshells around him. He wondered absently if he and Malfoy had more in common now that they were both orphans of war, hardened and indelibly stained in a way few teenagers are. He wondered this but didn’t press. Instead, he nodded and called out, "It was good to see you" over his shoulder as Malfoy slipped past him. He heard the door to the shop shut with a definitive snap and wasn't sure if Malfoy even heard him.  

***

Lunch with Ron and Hermione was a blur the next day. He couldn’t focus, and of course Hermione noticed and refused to let him off the hook. His thoughts kept drifting back to Malfoy, an insatiable need to see him again and find out more about his life of the past few months pervading his mind with alarming strength. It was normal, right? People who have experienced the same traumatic events often have a bond, and while that's probably not the exact word for what he was feeling about Malfoy right now, it explains it a little bit. Right? And the fact that he looked rather fit in that jumper, soft and more approachable than he used to be, definitely didn’t have anything to do with it. Of course not. That is so laughably far out of the realm of possibility that - 

"Harry!" Hermione's sharp exclamation dissolved his reverie and jerked him back to the present. "What's going on with you?"

"Sorry, I'm a little out of sorts today." Harry rubbed his eyes beneath the rim of his glasses and took a sip of tea.

"I'll say, mate. You've been more in the clouds than Luna today. What's swimming around in that head of yours?" Ron took a hearty bite of his sandwich and narrowed his eyes.

_Why the hell not? Might as well come out with it._

"I saw Malfoy yesterday so I'm a little distracted. Hadn't seen him since the trial, you know?"

Ron coughed, tiny bits of bread falling out of the corners of his mouth as his pupils grew as big as saucers.

"Blimey! Where?!"

"At a record store not far from my place." Harry spoke with as much nonchalance as he could muster, instantly unsure whether or not initiating this conversation was a good idea.

"Here?! In," Hermione looked around to make sure no one in the bustling cafe was listening before leaning in, lowering her voice as she queried, "In London? In a Muggle shop? Are you sure it was him?"

"Oh, I'm definitely sure. He works there. We talked for a bit. He was...nice. Really nice, actually. Not even just nice by Malfoy standards."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, neither sure what to say to that.

"Did he tell you...anything about why he was there? I realize priorities shifted for everyone after the war, but that still seems like a gargantuan leap for Malfoy to make." Hermione's brow knit together in skepticism.

"No, not really. Or at least not in any detail. He said anonymity seemed like a good choice after everything. Didn't feel comfortable in the magical world anymore. Can't say I blame him. It's not a feeling I'm totally removed from either." Harry fidgeted with his teacup, looking down into the brown liquid as though any answers could be found there. 

"Well, I wish he'd picked a spot a mite further from here. Would rather not run into the tosser, changed or not." Ron snorted derisively and took a gulp of tea.

"He really did seem different," Harry said quietly, draining the rest of his cup.

***

Two days later, Harry went back to the record store, inexplicably drawn there and unable to resist the pull. He decided the pretense of music recommendations was a good enough excuse to get Malfoy to talk to him. It was his job now, after all. If Malfoy was surprised to see him again, he didn’t show it.

"Hey." Harry nervously met Malfoy's sparkling eyes. 

"Hey. Back so soon?"

"Yeah, I um...I wondered if you had any recommendations? I've been working my way through all the shoegaze stuff. I find it rather..."

"Hypnotically calming?" 

"Yeah." Harry smiled fleetingly.

"I concur." Malfoy returned the smile with a brief one of his own and emerged from behind the counter. Harry followed him just as he had done a few days ago, but this time he had an urge to watch Malfoy's gait, the way his strong, slim legs carried his body as he walked. Were it someone else, it might not have mattered in the slightest. Harry had come to terms with his sexuality in the past year, and Ron and Hermione were aware of it as well. But this was Draco Malfoy, and well...even if he was objectively attractive, it felt wrong to examine his body this way. 

"So, what have you listened to already?" Malfoy asked as he thumbed through a box and began to pull out records. He placed them in a small pile on top of a neighboring box.

"Oh, um...My Bloody Valentine, Ride, Slowdive of course as you know...I think that's about it."

"Swervedriver?"

"No, I haven't heard of them."

Malfoy sorted through the stack he was forming and handed Harry two LPs.

"Cocteau Twins? Galaxie 500?" Malfoy cocked a questioning eyebrow, and Harry shook his head.

"Merlin, you don't know much, do you?"

"I'm afraid not, but I could point out the extreme irony of  _you_  scolding  _me_ about a lack of knowledge," Harry leaned in and whispered, "of Muggle music."

"Yeah, well...life is one big, unforgiving string of ironies, isn't it?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry thought he detected an iota of amusement in his voice. He handed Harry another record. "Shit...our stock is woefully unequipped. The British corner is pretty well covered, but you're missing out on a pretty big chunk of the genre if you don't delve into the American bands. Plus, there's a whole slew of things that qualify as dream pop, but the distinction between the two is just a bunch of pretentious quibbling between indie music wankers if you ask me - "

Malfoy stopped as though he'd caught himself oversharing except he really hadn’t considering he worked here. Harry delighted in this display of unexpected expertise, and it must have shown on his face because Malfoy's cheeks grew pink when he looked over at Harry.

"You really know a lot about this. Thanks, Malfoy." Harry tried to keep his voice bright, hoping to find the right mix of encouragement to keep Malfoy talking and curb the likelihood of him becoming embarrassed and withdrawing. "So if not here, where would I go about filling the American music holes?"

"There are a couple good places in Chelsea I could give you the names of, but..." Malfoy sighed and returned his attention to the stack he had been making, refiling the ones he didn't hand to Harry. "I suppose you might not want to sink a whole lot of pounds into records you haven't heard yet. And with all these being reissues, you won't be able to listen to them in the shops before you buy them..."

Malfoy trailed off, and Harry could tell he wanted to say something else.

"What is it, Malfoy?"

"Nothing." Malfoy shook his head, looking suddenly gloomy.

"I can tell you were about to say something." Harry took a risk and placed his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. He looked at Harry's hand dubiously, and then Harry swore he saw something else in his countenance, something like nerves, but he dismissed it as ridiculous.

"I...have a lot of the records I was going to recommend, and I don't live far from here. If you wanted...I could, um, lend them to you if you like. So you can try them out." Malfoy glanced at Harry uncertainly, and it was so strange to see his confident features twisted that way. "But if you scratch them or don't return them, I'll hex you to next fucking Tuesday."

_Ah, there you are._ Harry smiled at this first sign of Malfoy's snarky nature lingering underneath all the politesse. He took it as a triumph, a signifier that Malfoy was feeling more comfortable.

"I solemnly swear not to harm them in any way, shape, or form. I'll even give you the address to my flat so you can hunt me down and hex me in person if I do."

"I must be barking mad." Malfoy shook his head and cast his eyes heavenward. "Alright, I close up here in about an hour. You want to hang around or...?"

There it was again, that nervous look Harry didn't know how to reconcile with what he knew of Malfoy. Nor did he know what to make of the way that look made his chest flutter and his whole body flood with undeniable warmth. 

"There's a cafe I go to a lot around here. It's just a couple blocks away - "

"Rose's?"

"Yeah, that's the one.” Harry tempered his surprise at Malfoy’s recognition of the area, remembering that this was where he lived now. “Meet me there?"

***

Waiting at the cafe, Harry's mind ran wild with speculation. Would Malfoy show him inside or make him wait on the street? What would Malfoy's London apartment look like? And why couldn’t he shake this feeling that was dangerously akin to first date jitters?

Malfoy entered, and Harry rose with a smile, placing his cup on the counter and thanking the clerk before leaving. It was dark now but still early, only a quarter after eight. They walked the two short blocks in silence save for Malfoy's explanation of where his apartment was. When they arrived, Harry couldn’t help but take a minute to gawk at the building because it was much more working class than any place he would have imagined Malfoy residing. It looked far closer to where Harry lived than he would have thought possible, and he experienced a twinge of something he couldn’t quite identify at the thought of the two of them living in similar abodes across the city. 

"Are you alright with coming up for a minute?" Malfoy asked hesitantly. 

"Yeah, if you're alright with it." In his rush to reassure him, Harry nodded a little too ecstatically and then silently cursed himself for probably looking like some insane caricature of enthusiasm.

He lived on the second floor, and Harry averted his eyes as he ascended the stairs behind Malfoy, determined not to scrutinize his body any more than he already had tonight.

Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. While it wasn't a shabby apartment, it was far from lavish, a modest one bedroom sparsely furnished with quite a bit more media lying about than Harry had expected. However, he supposed he  _should_ , now that he was equipped with the knowledge that Malfoy worked in a record store and was apparently an aficionado of indie music. The arrangement of the rooms was interesting, each one connected by large open archways rather than doors. Not quite open enough to qualify as a loft, but it had the same bohemian sense about it, compounded by the presence of all the records and books. A stranger who wasn’t aware of Malfoy’s background would never have been able to guess that this was a man who used to live in a sprawling, ornate manor complete with servants and extensive, manicured grounds. 

Three quick taps sounded on the ceiling, and Malfoy looked up with a smile. Seeing Harry’s puzzled face, he explained.

“That would be Ruby. She’s a friend of mine. Lives upstairs. That’s our universal ‘are you home now and can I come down’ code. I’ll just ignore it for now. Do you want a drink or anything?” Malfoy made his way into the small kitchen and turned around, waiting for Harry’s answer. 

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Malfoy nodded and poured himself some whiskey in a tumbler. The knocks on the ceiling happened again, and Malfoy sighed. 

“She’s persistent today.” He set his tumbler down on the coffee table in the area that seemed to function as the living room and sat down on the floor to sort through the records. With a few under his arms, he walked over to where Harry awkwardly stood debating if it was okay to look through Malfoy’s things or if he should just wait politely.

A knock came at the door, and Malfoy laid the records down before going over to see who it was. When he opened the door, a chipper girl with long, wavy blue hair stood on the other side, bouncing from one foot to another like she was bursting with pent up energy. Without so much as a perfunctory greeting, she launched into a manic, babbling explanation.

“Okay so I know we invented that code for a reason but I was just  _dying_ to talk to you tonight because you know how I’ve been waiting to hear from that creepy tosser who owns that installation space but I totally found a solution to  _all_ of my art heart’s desires and - ”

“Ruby, you are correct that we  _did_  invent that code for a reason.” Malfoy stepped aside so Harry was in full view, and Harry waved a timid hand in Ruby’s direction.

“Oooohhh, rebounding quickly as always, I see.” Ruby gave Malfoy a salacious wink.

Malfoy wasted no time relieving her of that mistaken notion.

“God, no! He’s...an old friend.” Harry couldn’t see his face but wondered if Malfoy was cringing at this over-simplification of their relationship. It wasn’t like he could really tell the truth of what they were to each other. Even if she weren’t a Muggle, it still wasn’t a story that lended itself to brevity. “I’m just lending him some records.”

Harry ignored the tightness in his chest. Surely he wasn’t  _offended_  that Malfoy protested the possibility so vehemently? I mean, it  _was_  pure insanity to even entertain it. Again, not that Ruby had any way of knowing that.

“Okay okay sorry, I just assumed. I mean, he  _is_ cute and you  _are_ you. I’ll leave you two alone. Sorry!” Ruby stood on the balls of her feet and inclined her head in Harry’s direction. Harry just smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you later, Draco.”

Malfoy shut the door and shook his head wearily as he walked toward Harry.

“Sorry about her. She’s a bit mad, but she’s also the best friend anyone could ask for.”

“Well I  _am_ cute, and you  _are_ you, so naturally she assumed.” Harry couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his mouth.

“Yeah, well there’s no accounting for taste, is there?” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“ _Your_ taste, you mean?” Harry teased.

“That was  _her_ assessment of you, not mine, Potter. I knew it was a mistake inviting you here,” He muttered as he took a sip of whiskey.

_And why exactly did you invite me?_ The question was poised on the tip on his tongue, but he had a feeling that if he uttered it, he might not like the answer. Best to avoid any further disappointment. 

“If you don’t mind me asking...are you gay?” Harry blurted out before he thought better of it.  _Great, now you’ve really done it. You have definitely snuffed out the fastest route to a cagey and uncomfortable Malfoy._

“Queer as a three-dollar bill.” Malfoy raised his glass in mock toast and downed the remaining liquid. Harry was stunned at how easily that answer rolled off Malfoy’s tongue. “How about you, Potter?”

Malfoy speared him with shrewd eyes, and Harry shrank under his harsh gaze.

“Uh, well...I guess I’m sort of fluid? I don’t know...I’m learning that I tend to lean toward men, but it’s not as though I felt like anything was missing when I was with girls? I just don’t look their way as much as I do when it comes to blokes and saying bisexual seems disingenuous or something like my ratio should be more 50/50 to say that so I haven’t exactly labeled - ” Harry stopped as the horrific realization of what he just revealed (to Draco Malfoy of all people) dawned on him. Ron and Hermione were one thing. He’d known them for ages, and they’d been through more trials and tribulations together than most people experience in a lifetime. But he hadn’t really told anyone else, and Malfoy didn’t exactly seem like a great candidate for the imparting of soul-baring details such as this. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry.”

“Natural to be prone to rambling in this case. We’re in a bit of an awkward situation I chose to make even worse. I might be a different sort of tosser now, but I still  _am_  one,” Malfoy confessed with a smirk. “Have to admit though, I didn’t expect that answer. I only asked the question to watch you squirm.”

“I’m full of surprises, I guess.” Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking at anything that wasn’t Malfoy and bidding his cheeks to stop reddening. 

“You in a nutshell. Sure you don’t want that drink? Helps to have something to grip sometimes,” Malfoy mercifully offered.

“No, I should probably be going.”  _Lest I make even more of an_ _arse_ _of myself._

Malfoy nodded and handed the stack of records to Harry. 

“I think this should get you pretty well started. There’s a lot of amazing stuff here. Let me know what you think when you give them a listen. Before you go…” Malfoy pulled a mobile from the front pocket of his jeans. “Since you’re living among Muggles and I don’t take you for a complete Luddite, I imagine you possess one of these atrocious contraptions as well?”

“Want my number so you can threaten certain death unless I return all of these safely?”

“Precisely. Can’t have you fleeing the country with my prized possessions, Potter.”

Harry smiled and rattled off his number. 

“Do you mind if I apparate from here?”

“Be my guest.”

“See you later, then. Thanks for the records.” 

Malfoy smiled weakly, and then Harry was back in his own apartment.

A few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable ding of a text notification and glanced down to see a message from an unfamiliar number.  

_Don’t think this means we’re chums now, Gryffindor._

Harry grinned down at the phone screen and tapped a quick reply.

_Wouldn’t dream of it, Slytherin. :)_

He put one of the records on his turntable and settled in on the couch, slowly drifting off to the sound of Dean Wareham singing in his ear. 

_It's a place I'd like to be_

_It's a place I'd like to be_

_It's a place I'd like to be_

_It's a place I'd be happy_ ** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally only write fic when I have a better command of the origin material than I do with this, so apologies if this falls really short in that respect. Like I said, it just wouldn't leave my brain so once I got past 10k in a Word doc, I figured why the hell not publish the first chapter?
> 
> * Hacienda named after the legendary Factory Records club  
> ** lyrics are to Galaxie 500’s song “Tugboat”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more fluff before the angst swoops in. ;) Also, I forgot to mention this is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my own.

After Harry wore out the stack of records Malfoy lent him, he traded it for another. And then another. Eventually, they gave up on the borrowing system and ended up having listening parties at their respective apartments, drinking and talking and laughing over a dreamy soundtrack of synths and distortion and ethereal vocals. Subjects of contention were pointedly avoided as often as possible, their conversations consisting mostly of lighter things. Still, it was inevitable that those topics, the joined natures of their past, would come up from time to time. They always managed to steer the dialogue back to something more desirable before anything too dark could cast a pall on the evening. 

The first time they went to Harry’s, it was strange having Draco in his space, witnessing his intense grey eyes rove over the slightly messy interior, the organized chaos of stacks of books and unwashed dishes and hoodies draped over the backs of chairs. They had gone there on impulse after meeting at Rose’s, and Harry had regrettably neglected to think about what state the apartment was in when he agreed to it. 

Harry spotted a particularly crusty bowl on the kitchen counter, debating whether or not he could discreetly dump it in the sink to soak without resulting in some inadvertent sitcom routine in which he lost his balance or dropped it and ending up drawing more attention _to_  it rather than away from it. In the end, it didn’t matter. Malfoy didn’t seem to care much about the state of the place, and Harry relaxed, reminding himself that this was a very different Malfoy than the one who had sought to be the harbinger of his misery at Hogwarts. 

He didn’t tell Ron and Hermione about their budding friendship and chose not to question that inclination toward omission. Deep down, he knew it was a secret he probably shouldn’t be keeping, but everything was so pleasant between them. Harry feared that a lecture from Hermione or an admission of disgust from Ron might burst that bubble of happiness, so he selfishly chose to preserve it for now and compartmentalize all nagging voices that told him it would blow up in his face. For his part, Malfoy never asked about them. Likewise, Harry wouldn't dare to press him about his family unless Draco chose to initiate that conversation which he didn't.  

But as they were crouched on Harry’s balcony one evening, Draco with a cigarette between his lips, and each of them with a drink in hand, Harry decided to ask at least one question he didn't want flapping around indecisively in his brain anymore.

“Why did you decide to invite me over that first time? Don’t get wrong, I’m glad you did, but it still surprises me when I think about it. I wouldn’t have expected this…” Harry gestured between them but didn’t put a label on whatever  _this_ was, “To happen so quickly.”

Draco took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. He didn't look in Harry's direction.

“Never mind. It’s not important,” Harry said quickly, feeling the telltale flush of mortification coloring his cheeks.

“Fuck, Potter, not every silence is a catastrophe waiting to happen. We don’t all talk a blue streak like you and Granger. Sometimes I need to gather my thoughts before speaking. Honestly, it’s a technique you could learn from,” Draco chided with a lopsided grin. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I didn’t exactly grow up in a touchy-feely, ‘let’s all hold hands around a bonfire and share our feelings’ kind of family. Just give me a damn minute, alright?”

“Of course.” Harry smiled into his drink, and Malfoy took a couple deep breaths.

“I asked because...you came in and...you didn’t take the opportunity to get me back.” Draco took a drink, swishing it around in his mouth thoughtfully before swallowing. “It would have been so easy to point out that the tables had turned, and I’m living the kind of life I used to berate other people for, but you didn’t. Because that’s not you. That’s  _never_  been you, and I...it sounds like some bloody cliché Alcoholics Anonymous rhetoric to say I wanted to make  _amends_ exactly, but I wanted to do  _something_...extend some sort of olive branch or...whatever and just see where it took us. You kind of gave me the perfect, low stakes opportunity when you asked about shoegaze.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth drew up tightly as he waited for Harry’s response. He glanced at him in his periphery but didn’t turn to look at him yet.

“Citing AA? You really are immersed in Muggle life, aren’t you?”

Draco laughed and inhaled another lungful of smoke.

“Yeah, I really, really am.”

“And yet, after I left, you immediately sent a text reminding me that we  _weren’t_ friends.”

Draco shrugged. 

“I thought it would be funny, and when I got your response, I assumed you’d taken it the intended way.”

“It was, and I did.” They exchanged smiles, and Harry leaned forward to let his feet dangle through the wrought iron slats of the balcony railing. A moment later, Draco scooted in beside him, slipping his long limbs through the adjacent holes.

“I really am sorry, you know. Sorry I treated you like shit, and sorry I kept doing it long after I should have known better. I guess it was...no, it  _seemed_ ,” Draco corrected himself, “easier and less complicated to keep behaving the same way, maintain the pattern, be the Malfoy I was expected to be.”

“I understand,” Harry said quietly. This was a paramount moment, a huge step in their friendship, but Harry thought it best to keep his comments brief. Malfoy had been raised to be a proud man, and Harry was all too aware that any praise for how far Draco had come could be misconstrued as patronizing. The last thing Harry wanted to do was discourage this unexpected openness, so he took heed of Malfoy's words and gave him the space to speak. 

“With all due respect, Potter, I don’t think you really do.” There was a darkness to his voice, the heavy weight of years of expectation, decades of family history pressing down upon his slim shoulders, burdens inherited right out of the womb and reinforced ruthlessly at every turn.

“I can’t ever fully know what you’ve gone through, no, but I do understand what you’re saying. It’s partly why I prattle on when you’re quiet for too long. I’m always a little afraid you’ll retreat and push me away if I ask the wrong thing.” Harry looked over at Malfoy, watching the city streetlights highlight his unique features in little geometric pockets of bright light against blackness. Draco met his gaze, and his winter-grey eyes glittered. Harry felt a deep ache in the pit of his stomach. Draco was so utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, and he didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that until now.

“Not going to lie to you. I  _will_  do that at some point. You’ll press me when I’m moody or resistant for whatever reason, and I’ll tell you to fuck off and lock myself up so fast it'll make your head spin. So I’ll just apologize in advance. You shouldn’t let that stop you from asking though...if you want to, that is.”

“You really think anything could stop me from asking whatever I want?” Harry stretched out his arms above his head to grip the bars and leaned his cheek against his bicep.

Draco laughed.

“Not at all. You are relentless and have a blatant disrespect for boundaries.”

Harry laughed and watched a drunk couple stumbling out of the bar across the street.

“Is that part of the appeal of the Muggle world? No one to ask you about the unpleasant subjects because they aren’t even aware of them?” Harry softly inquired.

Draco nodded and took one last pull on the cigarette before squishing the tip on the balcony floor beside him.

“I think it was what I needed.”

“It’s odd...it’s like I’m divided into two halves of myself. Part of the time, I want to forget and am totally grateful for all the people who treat me like I’m glass, dodging every hint of somber discourse, but then...all of a sudden, I’ll desperately need to talk about everything. And I never know when the shift is going to happen.”

“Can’t say I relate much to the latter problem," Draco said ominously. 

It was eerily quiet for a moment as all the sounds of the London streets seemed to cease.

“I’m cold.”

“Yeah, fall is definitely here.” Harry looked up at the tree on the corner of his block, branches shaking in the wind as a few precious leaves still clung to their spindly homes. “Want to go inside?”

Draco slanted his eyes and shook his head.

“Merlin, Potter, I thought somewhere between the Basilisk and vanquishing the Dark Lord, you dated a couple girls. ‘I’m cold’ is code for ‘let me siphon all your warmth because I am too lazy to retrieve a jacket.’ Illogical to be sure but universal nonetheless.”

Harry blinked stupidly, heartbeat quickening as he processed what Draco said and  _how_ he had chosen to phrase it. Draco looked at him expectantly, a victorious smile spreading across his lips as he watched Harry, who had suddenly lost all ability to send signals from his brain to his limbs.

“I have to do everything, don’t I?” Draco said with a purposefully exaggerated sigh, lifting Harry’s arm and snuggling underneath it, head resting in the crook just between arm and chest. Draco kept his own arms wrapped around his middle, hugging his torso for warmth. Slowly, possibly with even more care than he would use to approach a wild creature like Buckbeak, Harry settled his arm around Draco’s shoulders and leaned his cheek against Malfoy’s satiny hair.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so cold if you weighed more than seven stone and change.”

“Duly noted,  _mother_ ,” Draco mocked. “You are well aware that I weigh more than that, and for your information,  _many_ people on all points of the gender spectrum fancy my body the way it is.”

“Yeah, well...there’s no accounting for taste, is there?” Harry’s smile widened as he felt Draco’s fist collide halfheartedly with his shoulder.

***

They didn't see each other for a few days, Harry busy with appearances and volunteer work in the wizarding world, and Draco busy with shifts at Hacienda and helping Ruby set up her new art show. This left Harry far too much time to torture himself with speculation about what was unfolding between the two of them. After a couple glasses of wine at Hermione's place one night, he typed, erased, and retyped nearly a dozen  _why did you refer to yourself like you were a girl I'm dating/are you thinking about me like I'm thinking about you/wtf is GOING ON WITH US_ texts. Thankfully, his thumbs never slipped and hit the send button.

Ever since that night, Harry had been forced to examine the fact that their closeness was edging into territory he no longer thought he was imagining. There was a growing tenderness to their interactions, a tone to their banter that always managed to bend toward flirting, and it made him even more wary of broaching the subject with his friends. He definitely didn’t feel like he could submit to an interrogation about their relationship right now without stumbling into an ungainly admission of...whatever this was. That would only lead to admonishments he wasn’t ready to deal with.

He couldn't deny that, over the past few weeks, Malfoy had developed a conspicuous proclivity for finding excuses to touch Harry. Malfoy’s head leaning on his shoulder with a yawn, citing exhaustion as the reason, a ruffling of his hair in the middle of the delivery of a good-natured insult, hugs goodbye instead of a wave, a hand clamping down on Harry’s shoulder as he passed by. Harry’s heart would thump like timpani in his chest every single time, and it began to feel like it was only a matter of time before nerves would melt away (probably with the aid of alcohol) and he would pull Malfoy to him in a crushing kiss.

One late October night, their schedules finally aligned again.

_D: Are you done being the trained Hogwarts pony yet?_

_H: Wow, thanks._ _Fwiw_ _, I LIKE volunteer work._

_D: Sure_ _sure_ _, and I like bloody self-help books. Are you free or not??_

_H: You're such an_ _arse_ _. Yes, I'm free finally. What's got your pants in a twist?_

_D: It's a surprise. An exquisite, melodious surprise. Are you at your flat?_

_H: Yep. Are you inviting yourself, like the bossy_ _arse_ _you are? It's kind of late, you know..._

_D: What, do you turn into a_ _pumpkin_ _after midnight, Cinderella?_ _On my way!_

Malfoy came rushing in with a new record in tow, adamant that Harry must drop everything to hear this remarkable album.

“The second track? You can  _drown_ in this song. It’s like being awash in a sea of glorious musical barbiturates, and I played it nonstop in the shop all day.” Malfoy put the record on the turntable, turned to Harry, and pointed unequivocally to the floor. “Lie down. You’re going to want to be ground level to absorb this properly.”

“You’re completely mental.”

“You’ll thank me for this. Lie down.” 

Harry obeyed and Draco, satisfied, dropped the needle, and laid down beside him.

“They’re from the US, and they’re called Beach House.” Draco closed his eyes and smiled as the music began. Harry left his eyes open, watching Malfoy’s elegant face as he basked in the dulcet tones of the opening guitar. A few seconds later, it was joined by a soothing female voice, husky and rich. 

_You know_ _you're_ _gold, you don't_ _gotta_ _worry none_

_Oasis child, born and so wild_

_Don't I know you better than the rest?_

_All deception, all deception from you_

It was lovely, but Harry felt like he was enjoying watching Draco’s blissed out expressions more than the music itself. He was aware that he should probably turn away lest he be caught staring without any viable excuse, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that alabaster skin and softly fluttering eyelashes. The need to reach out and trace the contours of his cheek, to feel how smooth the surface was beneath the pads of his fingers, was overpowering. And then the second track, "Silver Soul", started, and suddenly Harry was every bit as mesmerized by the music as Draco was. It began with a strange trickling sound like water dripping off rocks in a small brook, and when the lead vocalist sang...when she  _sang_ , it felt like Harry’s whole body had turned into warm jelly.

_The bodies lying in the sand_

_They're moving in the dark_

_It is so quick to let us_

_The feeling moving through our skin_

“Merlin...her voice...it’s like liquid velvet.”

“I  _know_ ,” Draco breathed, finally opening his eyes and turning to look at Harry. “Listen to the way she breathes inward instead of out on the end of phrases...It’s like...I feel…”

“Enveloped,” Harry finished.

“Exactly.” Draco smiled at him, and Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy with lust. He was sure Malfoy could see it, could recognize it for what it was, and his chest began to rise and fall rapidly, equal parts excitement and apprehension driving the relentless pace of his pulse.Slowly, carefully, he leaned in and laid his head on Malfoy’s shoulder, fingers twitching at his side as he contemplated draping his arm around Draco’s middle. Luckily, Draco made the decision for him and, grasping his wrist, pulled until Harry’s arm was resting across his stomach. They lay like that for a few minutes, Harry listening to Draco’s breathing and the rhythm of his heart, the music almost secondary, a complement to the sounds of life thrumming through Draco’s body. Harry was afraid to disturb the peace by pushing for anything more, but he was consumed by the need to kiss the tender skin of Draco’s neck and trail upward, over his sharp jaw until their lips met. Draco’s arm jerked beneath him, and Harry jumped back, separating from him like shrapnel. Draco chuckled.

“I’m just trying to get my arm free, Potter. Come back.” Draco held out his arm in invitation, and Harry hesitantly nestled back in. Malfoy brought his arm around Harry’s shoulders, and he couldn’t help the pleased hum that left his lips as those long, elegant fingers stroked his bicep. Harry curled his own fingers around Draco’s side, still not bold enough to dip them underneath his jumper. Draco’s other hand came to rest on his forearm, fingers skating across the surface and giving Harry goosebumps. The moment was tailor-made for a kiss. The airy melodies of the song drifting over him like clouds, Draco’s hand traveling up his arm to comb through Harry’s thick brown hair. 

Still, being the initiator had never been Harry’s strong suit. He was always a bundle of anxiety until his partners gave an explicit cue. Only then did he feel comfortable enough to move forward. However, this situation did seem pretty damn obvious. His reluctance was more about what was at stake. A rejection from Draco seemed like a much worse fate than suffering through one from anyone else. Y _ou_ _can do this you can do this you've faced Voldemort what's a possible rejection from Draco Malfoy compared to_ _that?_ Finally, Harry pulled back enough to meet Draco’s eyes. When he looked into those half-lidded grey irises, there was no more denying that the feeling was mutual. Harry took a deep breath and glanced down at Malfoy’s curved mouth. 

“Are you going to get on with it or just stare at my lips all night, Potter?” Draco challenged with a cheeky smirk.

“Oh…” Harry turned scarlet and looked down at Draco’s neck.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation, but his smile betrayed how endearing he found Harry’s embarrassment to be.

“Now, don’t turn into a blushing virgin on me, Harry,” Draco’s tone dipped low and sensual, and the combination of that and the use of his given name was almost too much. Harry felt the telltale constriction of his trousers. 

“Sorry…I’ve only kissed one other bloke. Conditions were less than ideal too…and well…”  _And it’s YOU and_ _you’re_ _perfect but you’re not and you look soft and angular all at once and that damn piercing gaze of yours goes right through me until I’m an aching, stuttering mess._

“It’s not rocket science, Potter. The mechanics of kissing don’t drastically shift just because the gender is swapped.”

“You’re such a bastard.” Harry lifted his gaze back to meet Malfoy’s. The way he smiled when he said it made it clear it wasn’t an insult but a term of endearment.

“And you like it so what does that say about you?” Draco teased, raising his pale eyebrows and carding a hand through Harry’s messy hair.

“That we’re  _both_  utterly mental.” Harry leaned in and, bracing a warm palm on Draco’s chest, pressed their lips together. It was soft and tentative at first, like he was still asking for permission, but the heat of Draco’s hand on the back of his neck and the way he sucked in a harsh breath like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening made all hesitancy fade away, and Harry kissed him again, harder this time, his tongue tracing the seam of Draco’s mouth until he moaned quietly and parted his lips. They both groaned as the heat of their tongues connected, Draco’s hand migrating from Harry’s neck to cradle his cheek. Harry’s own hand reached up to tangle in Draco’s white-blonde hair, stroking the silky strands between his fingers.

The sparks the kiss sent through every nerve-ending of his skin made him question if any kiss he’d experienced up to this point was even a kiss at all. Clearly he’d been missing out these last few years if it was supposed to feel this all-consuming, every inch of his skin ablaze and awake, like being immersed in icy water on a hot summer day, a shock to the system that made one feel more alive than they had ever known possible. Harry’s knee hitched over Draco’s thigh, desperate to crawl on top of him and cling, cling, cling until they were fused and inseparable but still too nervous to bravely forge ahead, still unsure what was okay and what wasn’t. 

Thankfully, Draco got the hint and roughly hauled Harry on top of him until his knees were bracketing Draco’s narrow hips. Now that all distance between them had been breached, lips sealed and chests pressed together, Harry could feel Draco’s growing hardness and wondered if Draco could feel the urgency coursing through him as well. His answer came in the form of Malfoy gripping Harry’s hips on either side and rolling them towards him, thrusting up as he did so. The sensation of grinding against each other like this made Harry’s eyes roll back in his head, and he fretted over whether or not he would come in his trousers like he had no self-control. Malfoy’s lips traveled down his jaw and neck. Harry stretched his neck back to encourage those soft lips to keep peppering his throat with kisses, their hips urgently colliding all the while. Arousal curled low in his belly, and Harry’s overwhelmed senses snapped back to reality.

“Wait. Stop for a minute,” He breathlessly pled, leaning back to put a couple inches of space between them. Draco blinked up at him as though coming back to himself bit by bit, the fog lifting as his pale cheeks colored pink.

“Sorry. I hope I didn’t…I can be a bit  _much_ sometimes,” Draco said it with a soft laugh that suggested he’d heard it before, and Harry’s stomach tensed in jealousy as he thought about who might have touched Draco like this before, seen him panting underneath them, mysterious eyes hazy with lust, felt the caress of his slender fingers.

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just…everything’s so new and...”  _And I'm kissing Draco Malfoy and enjoying it and he's enjoying it too and I'm not sure I want to think about the implications of that just yet._ Harry laughed, catching his breath and beginning to cool down a bit although still painfully aware of how close Draco was, how near to his breath and his skin and the very center of him he was.

“Good kind of new?” The uncertainty in Draco’s normally cavalier tone tugged at Harry’s heart. Had any others seen him quite like this? Even if they had gotten to touch him, smell him, taste him? Somehow, Harry doubted that very much. Malfoy’s walls were sturdy brick-and-mortar barriers that couldn’t be disassembled without the right finesse, and it was hard to imagine anyone he may have had awkward teenage fumblings with or any of his short-lived London hookups being anointed with the privilege of breaking through. No, this was a rare sight, and Harry silently thanked him for allowing this peek through the curtain.

“Yes, very,  _very_  good,” Harry assured him, stroking the pulse point of Draco’s throat with his thumb. “I’m just trying to be careful I don’t embarrass myself.”

Harry gestured toward his groin and averted his eyes.

“I wouldn’t care if you did, you know.” Draco cupped Harry’s chin and forced him to make eye contact.

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows with a grin. “Is that what gets you off?”

“Not usually, but the Saviour everyone reveres and thinks is so proper and angelic getting so randy just from rutting against me, former arch enemy and Death Eater, that he soils himself has its appeal.” Draco smirked and thrust against him to demonstrate his point.

“Stop.” Harry’s cheeks heated and reddened even further, but he kept smiling in spite of himself.

“How could I stop when it clearly turns you on so much?” Draco leaned in and licked along the shell of his ear, sending shivers up and down Harry’s spine. Harry groaned and pulled back so he could kiss Draco again but stopped in his tracks when he saw his lust-blown pupils, eyes that were still fierce but sweeter than he’d ever seen them before.

“Merlin, you’re beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it came out of its own accord, tumbling forth like it demanded to be spoken.

“Is that what you think?” Draco’s eyelashes fluttered against his delicate skin, his voice hushed. Not astonished exactly, but it was clear that he hadn’t expected to hear that.

“I’m sure loads of people have told you that before…” Harry traced Draco’s bottom lip with his forefinger, gasping when his tongue darted out to lick it.

“Loads of people aren’t you, are they?”

“I suppose not.” They exchanged shy smiles, and just to silence the unspoken doubt, Harry pushed up the sleeve of Draco’s jumper and kissed the faded Dark Mark.  _Yes,_ _even that. All of you, the darkness, the light, everything that made you who you are._

Draco whimpered, a poignant sound that was surprise, worship, sadness, and desire all rolled into one.

“I don’t understand you, Potter,” Draco said with a resigned sigh.

“I don’t understand you either. But…”  _But I do. I do more than I understand anything else in a way._  It was too hard to articulate, this strange dichotomy, this push and pull, being too sides of the same coin with each reaching a hand around the edge to join and hold and say  _I see you._  But he didn’t really have to say it. Not here, not now, not with him looking pliant and receptive underneath him.

“I know. I know.” Draco pulled him closer, locking their mouths again. Somehow the intensity had reduced to a simmer, and all either of them wanted at this moment was to be pressed close, enveloped in each other’s arms, no need to rush to a fevered conclusion, content to feel this and be absorbed in the fact that it was allowed, it was okay.

The record kept playing, and their lips kept connecting, neither of them able to get enough of each other, hands skimming across skin hungrily. Eventually side one ended, and the familiar intermittent bump of the needle skidding across empty vinyl filled the now quiet room. They finally stopped kissing but neither man moved to get up. 

"Looks like the record needs to be flipped..." Harry said noncommittally, fingers stroking Draco's jawline.

"Yeah..." Draco breathed. They both chuckled softly and remained pressed against one another.

"Draco..." Harry spoke the word in wonderment as though to remind himself that Draco wasn't an apparition.

"Harry..." Draco responded, a hand curving around the back of Harry's neck to pull him into another kiss. Harry moaned into his mouth and rolled off him as the kiss broke. He reluctantly got up to relieve the record player from its Sisyphean loop as Draco whined in protest.

"Sorry." Harry lifted the needle and placed it back in the catch. He glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a frustrated breath as he saw how late it was. "Fuck, it's after three. Do you want to stay over?"

He turned around to see Malfoy standing and smirking lasciviously back at him.

"No! I didn't...I wasn't trying to get you in bed...I just figured you shouldn't have to walk home this late I'll gladly give you my bed and take the couch it's not a problem at all - " 

"Potter, I love that I can give you such a hard time without even expending the energy required for verbal communication. I didn't think you were trying to shag me, and  _I'll_ be the one to take the couch seeing as how I rudely imposed on you without asking tonight."

"Oh no no, really you can - "

"Couch is  _fine_." Draco walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded, his eyes uncontrollably drawn back to Draco's lips. He lunged at him, and they were absorbed in each other once again, limbs winding together. Harry stumbled backward, and Draco pulled away, steadying Harry with hands on his hips.

"Okay, this time I'm really and truly going to bed," Harry panted, taking a step back to further distance himself from temptation.

Draco nodded with a laugh.

"Okay, see you in the morning, Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beach House record they're listening to is called Teen Dream, and if you've never heard "Silver Soul," give it a listen. I'm including the YouTube link below. I challenge you to say it's not the perfect dreamy, makeout song! I've always imagined I would film a languid love scene to it someday if that part of my art ambitions is ever realized, but for now I'll settle for writing a Drarry kissing scene to it. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Silver Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njbmwfndFH4)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are awkward, Draco is stubborn, and everything is a medium level mess as to be expected.

Harry passed through the night pleasantly immersed in a deep sleep filled with dreams of Draco. He was in the middle of a particularly good one that was on the verge of crossing over into being  _ great _ when the knock on the door ripped him from the land of the unconscious and into the harsh light of day. Groaning and cursing at the curtains he had neglected to close before passing out, Harry threw the covers back over his head. The raps sounded again, three times in quick succession, and Harry’s features screwed up in confusion as he tried to figure out why he recognized the cadence of that knock. Curiosity led him to abandon any further comforter burrowing. Throwing on a t-shirt he plucked from the floor, Harry ambled into the living room.

He waved to Draco, admiring his sleep-mussed hair and suddenly very, very aware that he had walked out of the bedroom with only pants and no pajama bottoms on. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to answer for you,” Draco whispered apologetically.

Harry nodded groggily and walked to the door. All the color promptly drained from his face when he opened it to find Ron and Hermione on the other side.

“Sorry to burst in on you like this, Harry, but we were on our way to meet my parents for lunch and - ” Hermione’s nose wrinkled in disapproval as her eyes registered Harry’s appearance. “Are you just now getting up? You realize it’s a quarter past noon, don’t you?”

“Well, I see she hasn’t changed much.”

Both Ron and Hermione’s eyes widened as they figured out the source of that raspy comment. Mitigating the tension seemed unavoidable at that point, so Harry winced and opened the door all the way until Draco was in full view.

“What in the bloody hell is Malfoy doing on your couch?” Ron hissed. Pinning Harry with befuddled eyes, Ron looked him up and down. Harry could feel his friend evaluating his state of undress combined with Malfoy’s presence on the couch, the wheels of recognition clicking into place. He couldn’t have conjured up a more mortifying moment than that, not even in his wildest nightmares. “Merlin...did you…”

Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs and flashed him an angry look, that characteristically harsh slant of her eyebrows shutting him up immediately.

“I’m right here, Weasley. You might want to wait until I’ve gone to interrogate him. But since it seems like you’re not going to opt for tact, I’ll go ahead and inform you that no, Potter didn’t shag me last night. It was late, and he offered me his couch like the gentleman he is so I didn’t have to wander the big bad streets of London at ill-advised hours.”

“Yeah, and why were you here at ill-advised hours? That’s the bit I’m still having trouble sussing out.” The redhead glared at Malfoy as Hermione and Harry exchanged discomfited glances. “Besides, last time I checked, you both are perfectly capable of apparating.” 

“Friends hang out until the wee hours sometimes. Merlin, it’s not a capital crime especially for nineteen year olds.” Draco put on his boots and began to lace them up, clearly eager to escape this uncomfortable situation as soon as possible. Neither he nor Harry addressed Ron’s second point. Any deflection would have had a pretty weak foundation. 

“Since when are you two mates?” Ron spat out the last word like it tasted sour, and Hermione jabbed his ribs again, more violently this time. “What? You can’t tell me you’re not wondering the same thing!”

Harry finally looked at Draco, and the hurt written in those remarkable eyes made Harry want to ignore his friends and leap across the room to comfort him. Instead, he stood stock-still, unable to decide what course of action would inflict the least amount of damage on all parties.

“Yes, but I have to agree with Malfoy. These are questions to ask some other time. Harry, we’ll talk later. Sorry we dropped in unannounced.” Hermione was civil, but her facial expression was an unmistakable warning to Harry, the tightness of her jaw and sharpness of her eyes screaming  _ don’t you dare think you’re off the hook just yet _ .

“Stay. I’m the obvious selection in this game of ‘which one of these things is not like the others,’” Draco grumbled as he threw on his jacket.

“Wait. Draco - ” Harry finally found the gumption to approach him, but Draco pushed past him without so much as a glance, awkwardly squeezing past Hermione in the doorway.

“It’s fine, Potter. I have to go anyway,” He mumbled as he left.

Harry sighed wearily and tried to silence the internal voice incessantly reminding him just how fucked he was from all angles.

“Well...come in,” He said as he stepped aside, jogging into the bedroom quickly to slip on some pajama bottoms and a hoodie. Unfortunately, covering up didn’t make him feel any less exposed. When he returned to the living room, a raging forest fire couldn’t have thawed the atmosphere. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Her brow wrinkled in concern, that maternal look she'd been giving Harry as long as he could remember, and it made him feel so wracked with guilt he could barely breath.

“I don’t know...at first, I wasn’t even sure there was anything to tell, and then once we started to really be friends...we were getting on so well. I didn’t want to spoil it by bringing attention to any of our old baggage. Talking to anyone from our past about us felt like an extension of that.” Harry turned around to fill a kettle in the kitchenette sink. It may have only been a placebo effect, but tea always made confrontations like this marginally less horrible.

“It sounds like you knew what we would say and didn’t want to hear it,” Hermione said sternly.

Harry turned the stove burner all the way up and rubbed his tired eyes. He didn’t even bother denying it.

“Since your complete lack of transparency doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, I have to ask...was Ron right? Is there something else going on between you and Malfoy?” 

Harry opened an overhead cabinet to grab the teapot and paused, cold fingers grazing the ceramic handle. He wanted so desperately to lie even though he knew it was a losing battle. Hermione would see right through him; she was practically clairvoyant that way. It had always been rather unsettling.

“I sort of...snogged him last night.” Harry reluctantly turned around to face the judgmental countenances of his friends. Their jaws were nearly touching the floor.

“I don’t even know what to say...Malfoy?! Harry, I know you like blokes, but...Malfoy?!”

“Ron, I know it sounds insane - ”

“Insane isn’t a strong enough word! They need to invent a special word for what this is. I... _ why _ ?!”

“I echo that sentiment. Becoming friendly is one thing. Becoming...intimate with him is something else entirely.” 

Harry hated the way she said that.  _ Intimate. _ It sounded so archaic and formal.

“He’s different now. He lives and works with Muggles. He has funny, artistic friends. He  _ apologized _ , and it wasn’t like I urged him toward it. It just organically happened. We kept spending time together, and at some point - ” The whistle of the kettle saved him from completing that thought. He walked over to pour the water into the pot, hands shaking as he gripped the kettle handle. This wasn’t how the morning after was supposed to go. Only a few hours ago, he had been kissing Draco and now he was in his flat, defending himself with extremely minimal success, head swimming with conflicting desires. He knew the comfort of his friends should take priority, but it was hard to push away the persistent fear that the longer they were apart without Harry having the opportunity to rectify the damage from the chilly reception of this morning, Draco would find a growing abundance of reasons to hate him again.

“You developed feelings for him,” Hermione finished the sentence. “Look, Harry...it’s great that he’s doing better and that he’s made an effort to atone, but it’s not as if he’s apologized to  _ everyone _ . You have a right to see whoever you like. I would never tell you otherwise, but you still can’t expect us to approve or act as though everything is completely mended just because he’s no longer a Death Eater and doesn’t hate Muggles. I  _ hate  _ that you kept this from us.”

“We’re supposed to be your best mates,” Ron quietly added, looking exhausted and thoroughly done. “Obviously, you knew what you were doing was utter shit or you wouldn’t have been lying about it.”

It stung like tangible welts from a whip across bare skin, and Harry felt like nothing he could say would undo the betrayal they were both feeling. He had an inkling that saying less was maybe for the best, at least for now anyway. 

“I’m really sorry. I know it was a horrible mistake not to say anything. Trust me, I feel awful about it.”

"Harry, we've known each other for ages. I don't know when you'll learn that you can come to me with anything, no matter how difficult the subject matter." Her eyes were so loving and tender as she walked over to cover his hand with her own warm palm. It only made the crushing force of guilt continue infiltrating every corner of his mind. Ron was less supportive.

“Are you going to see him again?” He made no effort to conceal the bite behind the words.

“I’d like to, yeah.” Harry shyly looked at him and waited for the inevitable scorn. 

Ron snorted and crossed his arms, refusing to look back at Harry.

“Ron...come on…” Hermione pled. “I doubt Harry would be spending time with him if there wasn’t any truth to what he said. I’m certainly not crazy about how we found out, and I reserve my acceptance of the situation until I’ve seen evidence of this supposed change but...I support you, Harry. I always will. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to be around him though. Not yet.”

“I understand completely. I wouldn’t force that on you.” Harry smiled, grateful to be blessed with one of the most fair-minded and kind-hearted friends anyone could ever ask for.

“Speak for yourself. We’re going to be late, Hermione.” Ron stalked toward the door and waited for Hermione to follow him. She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cupped a hand around her arm and shook his head. Hermione gave him a sad smile before heading out the door with her boyfriend. 

  
  


***

 

After they left, all Harry wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for a week in hopes that every bit of strife in his life would evaporate by the time he woke up. Maybe they were right. Draco being more considerate and affable toward Harry didn’t erase the way he’d treated those closest to him, and they couldn’t continue to be involved without some sort of promise of resolution on the horizon. But of the same token, it didn’t feel like Harry’s place to  _ demand  _ Draco apologize to his friends or suffer the consequences. Draco was very obviously not someone who would respond well to an ultimatum, and Harry didn’t think it was a very fair approach anyway. This left him with a complete lack of clarity about what to do, but he knew he needed to reach out regardless.

_ H: Sorry about the whole mess this morning. That was 100% not how I envisioned waking up today. _

_ D: It’s okay. _

Harry tried not to read into the brevity like some lovesick schoolgirl over-analyzing every single message from her boyfriend, but his intuition was very loudly insisting that something was wrong.

_ H: Can I see you later? _

Hours passed and no response came. Harry tried to take a nap, read a book, do anything to occupy the time, but nothing kept his mind off Draco. He couldn’t stop dwelling on what Malfoy was thinking and whether or not he was regretting last night. When his phone finally vibrated across the coffee table, he jumped up from the couch like he’d heard a gunshot.

_ D: I don’t think so. I have to stay after close. _

_ H: Tomorrow? _

_ D: Tuesday’s always new release day. I’ll be wiped after work. _

_ H: Alright, then. Let me know when you’re free? _

Monday turned into Tuesday without word and before he knew it, it was Thursday afternoon, and he was fed up. Fed up with himself for uselessly pining like an idiot, waiting for Draco to contact him, fed up with feeling guilty over pursuing him while his friends disapproved, fed up with Malfoy for discarding him without even having the nerve to be honest about it. Harry tried to convince himself that he was overreacting, but it was hard not to see the obvious correlation between what had happened the morning after their first kiss and the ensuing radio silence. Before that day, they had been texting on a  basically daily basis even if they had no plans to meet. Sometimes they just ribbed each other about nothing in particular, but Harry had grown used to it, had grown used to the smile it brought to his face to see Draco’s name pop up and know he had been thinking about Harry.

They had spent enough time together over the last few weeks that Harry knew his work schedule.  _ You know he closes on Thursday. Drop in. Say you were just strolling by. It’s not like you don’t hang out in the neighborhood anyway. It wouldn’t REALLY be a lie. _

“I’ll look like a fucking stalker. I should just respect that he doesn’t want to talk to me. Good Merlin, I’m answering the voice in my head out loud.” Harry rubbed his temples and groaned. Exasperated, he grabbed a jacket to protect against the October chill and locked the flat door behind him. He was only going for a walk, and if his regular route just happened to take him  _ directly  _ by Hacienda Records, then that couldn’t be helped, could it? It wasn’t his fault that the store was right in his path, and if he happened to see Draco at the counter and decided to go in to say hello, that wasn’t really his fault either, was it? It’s rude not to say hello to friends when you run into them.

Ten blocks or so later, he was standing in front of Hacienda, confronted with the back of Draco’s blonde head and his long, slim neck visible through the storefront glass. The neckline of his silver and black checked jumper was wide enough to reveal a small patch of elegantly sloped shoulder on either side, and Harry’s chest ached at the sight. He wanted to run his fingers, his tongue, his lips along that supple skin, wanted to nuzzle in the crook of his neck and inhale the bittersweet scent of him, a musky mixture of cigarettes, whiskey, sandalwood, and some unidentifiable spicy, Earthy smell that was uniquely Draco.

Draco didn’t look up as the bell on the top of the door announced Harry’s arrival.

“Hi.”

When he looked up from the records he was pricing, there was a flicker of panic across his face, but he quickly composed himself until his pointed features arranged into something more detached. It was an expression that felt distinctly practiced, a look that belonged in the arsenal of the Malfoy he used to know, not the soft, genuine boy who huddled under Harry’s arm for warmth, refusing to go inside just so he could have an excuse to get close. The boy who rushed to Harry’s place after work to gush about a new band he discovered, the boy who clutched at his shoulders when they kissed and smiled at him like his very existence was awe-inspiring.

“What are you doing here?” Draco muttered, turning his attention back to the stack of LPs.

“No wonder you haven’t a single customer. Your appalling people skills must be driving them away,” Harry teased. He smiled, but Draco still didn’t look up and didn’t respond with his own snappy rejoinder.

“I have to close up in five minutes.”

“I know. I was hoping we could talk. I’m pretty sure you’ve been avoiding me.”

“So you decided to corner me at my place of employment?” Harry’s face fell at the sound of that bitter tone. Part of him thought it wouldn’t be like this. That maybe all the tension would dissolve if he could just get Draco alone again, that if he could just deliver a joke insult in that shared language they’d developed, Malfoy’s demeanor would defrost, his scowl replaced by that crooked grin Harry had grown so fond of. "Potter, if I wanted to talk to you, you would have heard from me. In some cultures, a lack of response constitutes a tacit form of rejection, a signal understood by the other party so as to curb the chance of having any awkward conversations like the one we're having right now. I suspect you, famous, sought after wizard, aren't that familiar with the concept. However, I'm in no mood to be your educator on the subject." 

He went about fitting the records into clear protective sleeves and made no effort to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry felt like Draco had ripped open an old scar and left him to bleed out. He pushed past the sting of his remarks with a gulp and forced his tone to remain even and strong.

"I didn't want to force you. I know it's unfair getting at you like this when you're just trying to do your job, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't try. We were getting somewhere, Draco, and I don’t just mean the kiss. I mean the way we are with each other now, the way you opened up to me that night on the balcony. There was something wonderful happening between us. Am I wrong?"

“Yes, you are.” Draco walked out from behind the counter, records under his arm, and flipped the sign on the door from open to closed.

“That’s complete bollocks, and you know it.” Harry frowned as he remembered the brush of Malfoy’s slender fingers, the nervous bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the usually unwavering grey eyes suddenly questioning and telegraphing forbidden hopes and desires. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy whispered with a dejected sigh, staring out the window at the passersby. “It hardly makes a difference.”

“Why are you being like this? A few days ago, we had a great night and now - ” Harry walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“And what do you suppose happens after that?” Draco snapped, head swiveling to spear him with unforgiving eyes that almost made Harry flinch.

“After?” Harry’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Your friends and my mother, hell the whole bloody wizarding world has a collective, stress-induced heart attack?”

“Is that what you’re worried about? I don’t care, Draco – ”

“Merlin, the ever noble Harry Potter waving away paltry concerns like the opinion of every living soul he’s ever known. Must be an exhausting life,” Draco mocked, but there was something in his voice that was the loneliest, most bereft thing Harry had ever heard. A desperate plea for someone to come and vanish away all his troubles, both palpable and abstract, with an effortless flick of a wand. 

“They’ll probably lock you up on the fourth floor of St Mungo’s and throw away the key, convinced you’re under the influence of some horrid hex,” He whispered nearly inaudibly.

“Then let them. I don’t see why that should be the only thing stopping – ”

“The _ only _ thing?! God, are you naïve! You saw the very worst of the world all before you were able to drink in a pub, and yet you waltz around winsome and optimistic. It’s revolting…and yet I also really like it…envy it even sometimes…awfully twisted of me, isn’t it?” Draco spun around and cautiously met Harry’s eyes again. The raw candor made a beat of hope soar through Harry. “Maybe I’m the mental one.”

“Alright, yes, we have a checkered past.”

Draco snort laughed, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, ‘checkered’ is perhaps the understatement of the century, and you’re right about my optimism. It is a double-edged sword, but right now the blade is glinting just the right way for you to learn from it. Do I ignore the complications? No, but I  _ do _ choose not to dwell on them in an endless shame spiral.” Judging from how much he’d mentally seesawed the past few days, that was definitely a bit of a fib, but he didn’t think Draco needed to know that. “That doesn’t help anyone. You’re not the same person you were before the war. Neither am I. Neither is  _ anyone  _ we know.”

Draco looked down sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, but he nodded in agreement all the same. Draco looked up at him with imploring grey eyes and opened his mouth. Instead of speaking, he shook his head and closed it again, docile enough for the moment. Harry took the opening and plunged headlong.

"I like you. I like the way you don't treat me with kid gloves like everyone else does. I like that you're honest and talk to me without a filter even if it means you're being a total git. Hell, I  _ like  _ that you're a total git because you're hilarious and boxing clever when you're doing it. It's not like it was when we were at odds with each other. It's...nicer somehow. Like we're more on equal footing, like we know where we stand with each other and can banter instead of snipe. I don't know why you're so scared or how to change that, but just tell me what it is and we can work through it. If there's something I'm doing wrong or - "

Draco dropped the records on the counter with a pained sigh and brought a hand to his forehead.

"Stop. Just, please..." His voice sounded raw, tired, and he kept his eyes trained on the counter. "I can't do this, Potter. Forget about me, okay? We both know you'll be better off. We’re only putting off the imminent."

“What do you mean?”

Draco screwed up his eyes in disbelief, like it should have been obvious to Harry.

“When you get bored, when your curiosity about me is satisfied, when the thrill of fucking the forbidden fruit wears off, and you want a nice girl who can give you a brood of insufferable nosy do-gooder Potters running around barefoot and obnoxious, I’ll be the collateral damage.” Draco looked so vulnerable, Harry could hardly stand it. It was like all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap Draco in his arms and tell him it would be okay. 

“Is that what you think I want?!” Harry exclaimed. “ My life has been anything but typical and while admittedly that’s meant it has been absolute hell sometimes, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t want some prepackaged, sterile adult life I’m being sold as the right and proper thing. I mean, if that’s what a person I fell for wanted, I wouldn’t be opposed, but it’s far from being some sort of requirement. I want  _ you _ . Merlin help me, I really,  _ really _ want you, and it’s not a fleeting thing or a morbid curiosity.”

Malfoy blushed and his lips trembled ever so slightly before he hardened his jaw and fixed Harry with fiery eyes.

“That’s even worse, Harry. If you really feel that way about me already...I’m just going to disappoint you.”

“Why are you acting like I have some sort of huge expectation? Why does everything have to be so high stakes? Just because of our past? Fuck that. We were doing just fine before Ron and Hermione burst in on us. We were spending time together without some sort of perpetual doom cloud hanging overhead. We were getting to know each other again on our own terms. Why can’t we keep doing that? I’m sorry they reacted that way - ”

“You didn’t even tell them you were talking to me. Forget us dating or whatever we were on the on ramp towards, we’d been friends for almost two months, and you said  _ nothing  _ like you were ashamed of me.” Draco’s volume climbed, his eyes welling up as his chest heaved.

“That was completely awful of me. I selfishly wanted to put off hearing their opinions, but that’s not an excuse. I know I buggered it all up. But they know now, and - ”

“And I bet they were fucking thrilled, weren’t they? Picking out the color scheme for our future wedding, right?” Draco glared, his stance combative, fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Harry sighed and walked closer, reaching for Malfoy’s hand. He jerked it out of Harry’s grasp.

“They were upset, but honestly, I think it was more about me lying. Again, I accept the responsibility for that. It’ll be fine eventually. They’ll get over it.”  _ Please hear me, Draco. Don’t disappear on me. Not now.   _

Draco shook his head.

“It took me a whole year to feel some semblance of okay again. To not wake up in the middle of the night sweating with the screams of Hermione in my ears as Bellatrix tortured her, the fucking gravelly threats of Voldemort telling me he’d kill me if I didn’t kill Dumbledore first throbbing in my head like a fever I can’t banish away with pills or a charm, so many months of distance, and I’m still a fucking  _ wreck.  _ I might put up a decent front because, again, no one knows how to be guarded like a Malfoy, but trust that I still have days where I feel like I’m shattering into pieces on the floor with no hope of ever gathering myself up again. This...us...I can’t,” Draco choked out the last sentence like it hurt to give the words voice.

“Draco, please - ”  _ Let me help you. Let me be anything you need anytime you need it.  _ Harry tried to step towards him again, but Draco dodged him.

"Go. Now. I won't ask you again." He stalked toward the back of the store without so much as a fleeting glance. Harry left, his whole body wracked with the phantom sensation of heavy weights dragging his every limb and extremity to the ground. He didn’t know if he’d ever to be able to repair this pressure crushing his chest, this gaping hole stretching inside him to leave behind a stark, cold emptiness. The walk back was like a funeral march, and Harry knew no restful sleep awaited him at home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more angst, friends making up, and some more insight into Draco's arty friend group. Enjoy. :)

Hermione sent Harry a series of concerned texts whose intensity grew exponentially until he finally gave up on brooding in solitude. It had been a week since his argument with Draco, and the days had gone by in a listless haze, Harry only completing the bare minimum of life obligations and filling the rest of the time with the Beach House record interminably spinning under the turntable needle. It wasn’t the only record of Draco’s he still had, but he guessed Malfoy wasn’t keen enough on getting them back to fall for that as an excuse to meet.

_ Harry: Since you’re obviously not giving up anytime soon, dinner is fine. _

_ Hermione: Sorry, but my worries wouldn’t be assuaged! I’ll see you tonight. _

Harry tossed his phone to the floor with a groan. Only Hermione would use a word like “assuaged” in a text message.

As soon as he opened the door, Hermione took note of his shaky demeanor and, much to Harry’s chagrin, refused to accept any dodging on the subject.

"Harry, you look terrible. When was the last time you got a full night's rest?"

"I don't know...about a week." He blearily rubbed his eyes. Everything sounded muffled, like he was underwater and couldn’t rise to the surface.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” He said weakly, trying and failing to flash a reassuring smile.

"It certainly doesn't look like nothing. I meant what I said, you know. You can talk to me.” Her voice was full of sincerity and suddenly he wanted to spill everything no matter how touchy the topic was.

"Care to hazard a guess?"  _ I'm absolutely mad about Draco Malfoy and melting his iceberg is proving to be more difficult than taking down the Dark Lord himself but other than that, I'm fine and dandy. Oh yeah, and the warm reception you and Ron gave him seems to be what set him off running in the other direction, but everything is great. Never better. _

"Draco?" She cocked a knowing eyebrow, and he sighed, plopping down onto the couch cushions with a fervent wish that they would swallow him up and spit him out somewhere new.

"He just shut down after that morning. I don't know what to do. I can't give up on him. I don't think I'm even emotionally capable of entertaining that option right now, but I feel pathetic just stewing about it. I guess I…” Harry frowned, considering his words. “I mean I  _ knew _ I liked him, but clearly I underestimated how I felt."

“I’m sorry. I know Ron and I bear part of the responsibility for this. If we hadn’t shown up like that – ”

“I don’t blame you for it. If he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready. I think it would have only been a matter of time before something else made him skittish, you know? It was just such a shocking reversal…felt like I’d been slapped across the face.” Harry tilted his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

“Still, it was rather rude of us. This is your flat, and we intruded on your privacy and then judged you for how you were choosing to spend that privacy. The adult thing to do would have been to leave and ask you about it later,” Hermione lamented with a sigh, leaning back into the plush fabric. “We’ve always shared a lot, but I shouldn’t act…entitled to information about your life.”

“Well, to be fair, you  _ did  _ try to leave, but Ron decided to make it rather difficult.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“That complete idiot. He’s been moping around for days, refusing to contact you but fretting about how angry he thinks you are. I swear, he’s worse than any thirteen year old girl sometimes.”

Harry laughed, a genuine smile curving the corners of his mouth for the first time in days.

“True to form, honestly. He’s always been dreadful at apologizing for being an arse. Remember when he thought I put my name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“Of course. And then there’s my personal favorite, the time he left us in the middle of the Horcrux search and came back with his tail tucked between his legs. Loves to jump to conclusions and storm off dramatically, that one.”

They both chuckled as they mentally scrolled through all past Ron Weasley blunders.

“At any rate, I’m sorry for how quickly we reacted. It was quite the surprise, and I wasn’t sure what to think. I will continue to harass Ron on a daily basis until he tells you the same. It shouldn’t take long for me to wear him down. Frankly, I’m astonished he’s held out this long.”

“Oh, I have the utmost faith in your abilities.” Harry grinned, but it quickly faded as he remembered that this was only one piece of the messy puzzle.

“Will you tell me what happened with him? You’re under no obligation to share, of course, but I’m here to listen if you’re ready.”

“I went to see him at the record shop to try and smooth things over, and he…” Harry looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. “He told me we shouldn’t see each other anymore, and the crazy thing? As much as I disagree with him…it almost feels like  _ I’m _ the arse for arguing. He said it took him this long to start feeling okay about everything that happened during the war, to finally feel like he was on the mend, and that all the added complication from us being involved was a bad idea.”

“That sounds very…responsible and grownup of him,” Hermione observed with a note of admiration.

“Right? And I can’t begrudge him that, you know? I feel sort of greedy trying to convince him to be with me. Maybe it  _ is _ too soon. The last thing I want is to be a hindrance for his…recovery I guess is the right word? I don’t know…I thought we were good for each other. At first, we avoided all the hard stuff, but we were starting to talk about some of our issues. It  _ seemed _ like it was going well.”

“Maybe give him a little time and suggest you return to being friends? Maybe it was just the jump to romance that was too much for him. It  _ is _ a lot at once, particularly for the two of you.” Hermione turned toward him, elbow resting on the back of the couch. “And if you continue to rush into things without discussing all the obstacles, they  _ will _ come back round to rear their problematic heads. Everything isn’t going to be resolved overnight, no matter how much either of you want it to be.”

“That would be the reasonable thing to do, but honestly I don’t know if I could. It felt so  _ right  _ to kiss him. I don’t think I could pedal backwards now. I  _ definitely _ don’t think I could watch him date someone else. But I think if I push too hard, I might lose him completely. Fuck.” Harry ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the root. “I have no clue how to handle this.”

"Harry...it sounds like you don't have him right now anyway. At least, not in the way you  _ want _ him, and it seems that, in your mind, your feelings for Draco are an all or nothing proposition. I don't believe you'll  be content until you've gone for broke and risked alienating him even further. I understand you’re reluctant to go against his wishes or be intrusive, and frankly, I endorse that wholeheartedly. Give him a little more space to cool off and think, and then reach out. If he isn’t receptive after that, I think it’s best to acknowledge his decision.” Hermione clamped a hand on his shoulder. “You can't control his reaction  _ to  _ you. You can only control your reaction to him. And frankly, if you don't get some sleep soon, you'll be entirely too unattractive of an option for him to even consider."

She smiled mischievously, succeeding in pulling another laugh from Harry's throat.

"Now you sound like him." Harry straightened his back and reflected on this. "I’ll think about it. Thanks for...I know this isn't easy for you. Me talking about him and me feeling how I do about him."

"Need I remind you?"

"I know, I know, anything at all no matter how hard. I just want you to know how much I appreciate it."

"I know this isn't exactly the easiest transition for you either. And look, if he  _ does _ come around, it'll work itself out. I'm sure if the two of you can sort out all the baggage between you, we can as well. Time heals all wounds, as they say." She squeezed his shoulder and smiled once more.

_ I hope to Merlin you're right, Hermione. _

“You know, he  _ asked  _ me to kiss him. I mean, sure I was ripe for it too, but he was the one to give the push.”

“In the moment, I’m sure he wanted it every bit as much as you did, but what someone wants can’t always be equated with what they’re ready for. The brain and heart don’t always see eye to eye.”

“I know.”

“Now then, shall we head to dinner? I’m certain that in addition to your poor sleep hygiene, you haven’t had a proper meal in an abhorrently long time.” Hermione stood up, her eyes assessing him with the usual worry.

A knock sounded on the door before Harry could respond.

“It’s starting to feel like my flat is King’s Cross,” Harry grumbled as he made his way to the door.

When he opened it, he was greeted by the sight of a very familiar redhead bashfully looking up at him from under his lashes, head slightly bowed.

“Hey.”

“Hey…I figured I’d see if you two had left yet. Thought I might join you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Harry said encouragingly. Ron nodded but stood still with his hands in his pockets, riddling out what to say next. 

“Look, I know I was terrible the last time we saw each other. It’s alright if you fancy Malfoy. A lot’s happened since Hogwarts and the war, and you deserve to be happy. If he’s the one who makes you happy, while I won’t pretend to understand it, I would never stand in the way of that. He’s a bit…pointy, but what the hell do I know about what makes a bloke fit?” Ron shrugged with a shy smile.

“Well, maybe I fancy my blokes angular,” Harry said with a grin. “Thanks for saying all this, Ron. Sadly, it  doesn’t look like Malfoy feels the same about me.”

“What?!” Ron’s head snapped up, eyes widening. “Does he think he can do better? Blimey, I knew he was a bastard, but I didn’t know he was downright moronic too.”

Harry couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face despite the reminder of how strained things were with him and Draco right now. It was pretty amazing to see Ron Weasley upset that Draco Malfoy had rejected Harry. It was a scenario that would have sounded completely improbable only a couple months ago.

“No, it’s not like that. Not exactly. How about I fill you in over dinner?” 

 

***

 

Continuing to frequent Rose’s Café was perhaps an unwise choice due to the dangerous proximity to Malfoy’s place of work, but Harry had grown accustomed to his rituals over the past year. They had served as a sort of grounding tool, a means of instilling some sense of normalcy to combat the chaotic aftermath of war. A pastry and coffee as he covertly read the  _ Daily Prophet _ behind the cover of a less peculiar newspaper had been one such ritual, and he didn’t feel like abandoning his Wednesday afternoon comfort just because Malfoy might pop in at any time. And if part of him was hoping rather than dreading that Draco would crop up eventually, his lithe, graceful form gliding through the door lined with local art show and punk band fliers as Harry pretended not to notice...well, Harry couldn’t be blamed for that. After all, it had only been a couple weeks since that awful conversation.

What he had failed to anticipate was Ruby bounding in with her naturally bubbly energy, freshly dyed flaming red hair fading into a vibrant magenta a few inches from the bottom and an armful of fliers. Suddenly, he remembered her show was coming up. Draco had invited him, and at the time, it felt like a significant act of inclusion. The fact that he made plans with Harry a few weeks in advance, no doubt to be detected in the timbre of his voice about whether or not they would be on good terms that far in the future, filled Harry with warm contentment. Draco had excitedly babbled about the friends of his Harry would finally meet, divulging bits of gossip about each one, who was shagging who and who got annoyingly affectionate when drunk and who to avoid discussing particular subjects with. The prospect of Draco opening more doors for him, letting Harry be a part of more aspects of his life, was one he didn’t take for granted.

In the midst of everything that had transpired recently, Harry had forgotten all about it. Seeing Ruby made his heart plummet into the depths of his stomach, and he slunk down in his chair, obscuring his face with the newspaper as Ruby asked the girl manning the counter if it was okay to put up the fliers. The universe, being the fickle distributor of luck that it was, refused to allow Harry to survive this chance encounter unscathed.

“Harry!” Ruby sat down across from him at the table and peered over the top edge of the paper, squinting her eyes and cocking her head jocularly. “Are you hiding from me? Or someone else perhaps? On spy duty for whatever mysterious organization you no doubt work for?”

“Sorry…it’s not you, Ruby. I – ” Harry lowered his paper, careful to fold it first so that the  _ Prophet _ was out of sight.

“Draco,” She interjected with an eyeroll. “I know. I pestered it out of him. He has a Ph.D. in  circumvention, but as you know, I can be  _ very _ tenacious.”

“That you can. I think it’s one of the things he likes most about you.” Harry smiled. Awkward circumstances or not, it was good to see her. She had a way of disarming Draco’s aloof act and stripping him of his defensive mechanisms. It was an enviable talent and one that was always a joy to witness. On one such occasion, Ruby had been prodding him for information about how he and Harry met. Draco refused to give any details about their past beyond a vague assertion that they went to an insipid boarding school that would be of no interest to her. Considering the nature of the “boarding school” they attended, Harry understood why he was being elusive, but of course Ruby would have none of it. “Come on, boys in an English boarding school? Some stereotypes are true. I demand juicy details!” Draco had tartly insisted that there was nothing to tell, that he and Potter had despised each other the whole time and trading insults was the liveliest thing to occur between them. “Well, we both know you are the very definition of ‘the gentleman doth protest too much’ so I’ll take that to mean you’ve had an incurable crush on Harry since you met.” The look of horror on Draco’s face was priceless, and Harry had choked on his whiskey as a stuttering Malfoy clumsily changed the subject. He’d never seen anyone make Draco lose his poise quite as adeptly as Ruby.

During their music listening sessions at Draco’s apartment, she would often venture down (after delivering her signal on the ceiling of course) to deliver some baffling non sequitur. Sometimes it was a continuation of a long abandoned conversation between the three of them from days ago and sometimes merely a new thread extending from some internal dialogue of hers that neither of them were privy to. She never explained and often grew hilariously impatient with their inability to read her mind. After a little time together, her haphazard manner of thinking became clearer, patterns and the nature of her illogical logic emerging. Harry imagined her and Luna would get along famously.  

“Well, I say fuck him and his saucy attitude. I think you’re  _ lovely _ , Friday is a huge night for me, and I want you there. You haven’t met  _ any  _ of my other fabulous, one-of-a-kind friends, and that is a real travesty. What are you  _ doing _ with your London life that you’re spending all your time with Moody Malfoy and not getting out to see the rest of what’s lurking in the seedy corners of this city?” Ruby was very much someone who talked with her hands, so much so that one had to be vigilant of her poor depth perception unless they wanted to be accidentally whacked in the face. She made a grand sweep with her arms to symbolize the wide breadth of London and tossed her head back dramatically, fiery tresses trailing behind her chair. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him, even if he  _ is  _ an old codger before his time, but he can be extremely daft in the relationship department. This case is no exception.”

“Thanks.” Harry smiled timidly. “I don’t think he’d be very happy if I showed though. He made it extremely clear that he doesn’t want me around.”

“That may be, but number one,” She raised a finger to begin ticking off her reasons, “this is my venue I worked so very hard to secure and fill with mind-blowing art so he does  _ not  _ get to dictate who is in attendance. Number two, we all know he was probably lying, both to himself and to you. Number three, there will be a million other nice looking gents to take your mind off him, and I will happily introduce you to anyone you like.”

Harry sighed and fingered one of the fliers lying on the table.

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good boy.” Ruby smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead before scurrying off in her typical, hyperactive fashion.

***

 

After changing his outfit enough times that his already messy bedroom floor looked like a clothing landfill, Harry left his apartment and headed to Ruby’s opening. The space she had chosen was an abandoned warehouse in Peckham. When Ruby first unveiled this, Harry had asked Draco how all this was possible. He answered with a shrug, declaring that getting a straightforward answer out of Ruby about money and the finer legal points of her art shows/parties was exceedingly difficult. “Just pray it isn’t like that time with the firehouse in Leyton. I don’t know which was worse, the accidental pepper spraying or the glitter bombs.” Harry’s pupils had blown wide at that, and he didn’t inquire any further.

As he approached the building, he saw small clumps of people scattered around the gravelly, unpaved lot in front, drinking and smoking and generally looking about ten times more attractive and put together than he felt. Harry self-consciously fiddled with the edge of his green striped jumper, took a deep breath, and marched past all the well-coiffed people with curated vintage clothes and hair every color of the rainbow.

Since he’d never been to one of Ruby’s events, he had no idea what the scale would be. Once he opened those doors, he saw that an awkward run-in with Draco might be possible to escape. The space was massive and bursting with people. It was a spectacle completely worth the risk. To separate each installation, the open area was loosely divided into sections with huge curtains made of various materials. One was composed of shimmering, undulating layers of flattened aluminum cans, the colors of which were coordinated to make a seascape with the open mouth of a shark as the focal point. Another was a lattice work of string lights that scrolled and blinked in patterns that morphed into new images a few seconds later, first a collection of mouths opening and closing and then a series of hands waving.

Additionally, each sectioned-off corner held its own installation work, often with different lighting. The effect was disorienting but incredible, the brain grappling with the effort required to take in this wealth of contradictory sensory information. Harry’s apprehension melted away as his mouth hung open in awe. It reminded him of those early days at Hogwarts, seeing the extent of what magic could do, his young mind struggling to grasp the possibilities. He made his way past the aluminum can curtain to see the first “room.” This happened to be one of the pieces constructed by Ruby herself, and Harry thought it was utterly brilliant. A panel hanging on the wall explained how the installation worked. The floor was composed of lights under semi-opaque frosted glass that lit up from applied pressure. The description said they changed color based on the temperature of the person touching them.  _ What if the world around us responded to our touch, absorbing our moods and ailments from the brush of a finger? All who step foot in this square can experience that. Press your face to the glass, caress it with your hands. What will your body reveal to you?  _ Below that suggestion was a chart of what colors were supposed to indicate what moods.

A few guests at the other end of the piece were bent down, laughing as they pressed their hands and cheeks to the glass. Hesitantly, Harry bent down and pressed his palm to one of the squares. It lit up a bright red that faded to orange around the edges. Feeling a bit stupid, he bent further down to press his cheek to it. Putting your face on something countless people have been traipsing on all night, spreading Merlin knows what germs, seemed like an obvious mistake, but curiosity got the better of him.

“How lovely that I should find you face down and arse up!”

Harry jolted off the floor and was greeted by Ruby’s smiling face. Her dazzling red hair was arranged in Grecian braids, and she was wearing a white lacy shift dress with layers of fringe at the bottom. Ruby stretched out her arms, and Harry accepted the hug.

“How does this work? It’s amazing.” Harry waved at the floor.

“Now, now, Harry. A magician never reveals her secrets,” Ruby jokingly scolded, wagging her finger. “You don’t have a drink yet! Tragic. We must remedy that at once!”

She motioned for him to follow her, and they walked through a maze of art, Harry nearly crashing into a statue comprised of broken off parts of old chairs that were formed into the shape of a headless, waltzing couple. At last, they reached the back of the warehouse where an impressive spread of food and beverages lay across several long tables lining the wall. Harry hardly knew where to start, eyes darting about as he surveyed the veritable buffet.

“You look lost. Let me make you something. I am positively  _ known  _ for my on-the-spot concoctions. They’re delicious, they get you pissed, and you’ll never be able to determine the ingredients from taste alone!” Ruby grabbed a plastic cup and started pouring small quantities of liquid from an amount of bottles that was very, very concerning. Harry was certain this was a terribly bad idea for which he would pay dearly in the morning and maybe even later tonight, but he accepted the drink anyway.

Ruby looked at him expectantly, waiting for his approval. Harry raised the cup in a toast and took a sip. His eyebrows raised as he swallowed, thankful to find that she had been truthful about her talents as a mixologist.

“It’s perfect,” Harry praised with a smile. He did a quick visual sweep of the back area, eyes on alert for any sighting of hair that preternatural shade of platinum blonde most could only achieve with the aid of chemicals.

“Oh, he’s around here somewhere, looking smug and handsome as usual. Would you like me to alert him to your arrival?” Ruby asked with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“No!” Harry said a little too abruptly. “I mean…I wasn’t looking for him.”

“Uh-huh.” Ruby poured some champagne into a cup for herself and took a swig, scrutinizing Harry over the rim of her drink.

“I’m starting to understand why Malfoy hates it when you see right through him.” Harry took a drink and looked around the room again. “I’m a complete idiot, Ruby.”

“No, you’re not, darling. You’re not the first to fall for that cantankerous mophead. He can be quite charming when he wants to be, but I suppose you don’t need me telling you that. I’m sure you have stories about him that would shock even the likes of me.”

Harry bristled at the mention of the others before him who had sought Malfoy’s affections and lost.

“You don’t know the half of it, Ruby.” He took another drink, half aware he should pace himself but not really in the mood to listen to reason.

“Let me introduce you to some people.” Ruby curled a gentle hand around his arm and steered him back toward the hubbub. They stopped at an area with a velvet sectional and a coffee table shaped like a kidney bean. Ruby waved her hands to indicate they should make a space for her and Harry in the middle. They both sat down, Harry clutching his drink for security. Crowds of new faces had never really  been his thing, and that aversion never seemed to dissipate with practice. “Everyone, this is Harry. Harry, this is Lotus, David, Abby, Mark, and River. Lotus and River have hippie parents, not the  _ same  _ hippie parents, mind you, but it accounts for the names.”

“Primary school was  _ rough _ ,” Lotus declared with a laugh. “I’ve quite grown to like it though. Better than being one in a thousand Jennifers, right? And no one in art school cares if your name is a plant. How do you know our Ruby?”

“Uh, well…I went to boarding school with Malfoy. He introduced us.”  _ Stop being nervous at the mere mention of his name or this is going to be a long night, Potter. _

“Oooohhh, you must tell us all his embarrassing secrets!” David chimed in from beside her.

“I bring a nice new friend over, and you’re prying right away! For shame!” Ruby gave Harry’s arm a comforting squeeze.

“Can’t blame us for trying! He’s so mysterious about his past. I’m the one who grew up on a commune, but he gives me a run for my money when it comes to acting like an alien. Do you remember when he first got a mobile? It was like watching a ninety year old man who’d lived in a cave his whole life try to work it out.” Lotus laughed and everyone else joined in.

“He used to jump like a bomb’d gone off when it rang,” Abby added. “It’s terribly rude of us to be asking about someone else when we only just met you, but I fear we’ll never get another chance like this, Harry. So did Draco grow up on Mars or what?”

Harry laughed a little at that. He hadn’t thought about Draco adjusting to simple parts of the Muggle world. Since Harry himself had grown up there and never really lost his connection to it, he took the knowledge of things like cellphones and public transportation for granted. It tugged at his heart strings to imagine a lost and confused Malfoy bravely trying to make it on his own in London. Harry wondered if Draco knew just what an accomplishment that was.

“What are you lot laughing about?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, his cheeks heating as he looked up to see Draco standing in front of him. He was wearing a white Smiths t-shirt under a black leather jacket with black jeans tucked into rust colored Dr. Martens. Why did he have to look so effortlessly perfect right now? Draco only let his gaze linger on Harry briefly before moving on.

“You, actually,” Lotus informed him. “Ruby told us Harry was an old school mate of yours, so we were quizzing him on your upbringing. You’ll be happy to know he refused to divulge, but I bet we can crack him after a few more drinks."

“Well, he has my permission. Curious to see what he’d say, actually.” Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry and took a drink from the cup in his right hand.

All eyes turned to Harry eagerly, and despite the din of the event, Harry would have sworn a deafening silence penetrated this particular area.

“Malfoy’s family is…” Harry looked straight at Draco for a clue as to what he should say but found only a maddeningly unreadable expression. “Very traditional. They tended to shelter him from anything they deemed unacceptable, which accounts for a lot of his mistaken notions about how other people live their lives.”

The left side of Draco’s mouth quirked up, and Harry could tell he was thinking, “nice save, Potter.”

“Traditional  _ how _ though?!” David demanded. “I’m wracking my brain for what kind of traditional would make staplers confusing.”

“I know the Amish are rare in England, but that’s the closest comparison I have. Add in the sort of prejudices that come with fanatical Christianity, and you’ve almost got a vague picture of it.” Harry smirked, and Draco shook his head. He smiled back at Harry, and, as though he suddenly realized they weren’t supposed to be on good terms, he returned to looking annoyed.

“Oh my god, they were religious?!” Lotus slapped her knee and leaned closer to Harry.

“Not exactly, but I think that’s the best way to describe it.”

“Well, the nearly Amish part explains a lot. Did you churn butter, Draco? Shirtless on the farm?” Mark, who Harry hadn’t really noticed when Ruby made her introductions, finally spoke up. He was very striking, coffee colored skin and hazel eyes, wearing an impeccably tailored black blazer over a blue v neck that revealed a small patch of a smooth, muscular chest. The flirty smile Mark gave Malfoy when he talked about him being shirtless on a farm made Harry grit his teeth.

“God, no. We were rich enough to have people churn the butter for us if we really wanted. My family is rich, eccentric, and insufferable, alright? Let’s put this subject to bed now.” Draco rolled his eyes and took a hearty gulp of his drink.

“Not when we’re just getting started!” Ruby exclaimed, her inquisitive nature causing her to abandon the earlier attempt to curtail all discussion of Malfoy’s past. “Does Merlin have anything to do with it? Do they worship fictional wizards?”

“Fuck this. I’m going outside.” Draco turned around and headed toward the back doors while everyone uttered a collective “awwww, come on!”

Without bothering to think first, Harry got up and followed him outside. He found Draco leaning against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, foot propped against the brick as he lit a cigarette. He looked like an album cover, and it made Harry’s knees weak.

“Sorry about that. Wasn’t exactly an easy subject to field.” Harry leaned against the wall, careful to put enough space between them.

“You could have refused to answer. Now I’m going to be suffering through jokes about milking cows and harvesting crops for months.” Draco took a long drag and exhaled slowly.

“Ah, it’s all in good fun. They obviously adore you.”

Draco didn’t agree or deny it. The silence stretched on, and Harry kicked at the dirt and rubble with the toes of his shoes.

“Are you mad that I came?”

“I can’t very well tell you where you can and can’t go. I don’t own the city.” Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Ruby was very insistent.”

“That’s Ruby.”

“Yeah…listen, Draco – ”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Harry moved from his place on the wall and stood in front of Malfoy. “Can we just go back to being friends? I’d rather have more, but if that means losing you from my life completely, I don’t want that.”

“Why?” When Draco lifted his eyes to Harry’s, he looked exhausted, like he couldn’t bear to do this again.

“I already told you. I like you. I like spending time with you – ”

“There are literally billions of people in the world to choose from for companionship, Potter. You don’t need to add me to your roster. Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Why are  _ you _ ?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.

“Everything I said, every concern I raised, it still applies if we’re just friends.”

“I talked to Hermione and Ron. They both came round, and we talked it out. Things aren’t as insurmountable as you make them out to be.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground.

“And there it is again, the incurable gullibility. I doubt everything is all patched up nice and neat from one conversation.”

 “No, but it’s a start. A pretty damn good one from where I’m standing.”

“We  _ can’t _ .” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Harry looked up at him, and there was something heartbreakingly sad in his eyes.

“I don’t think…I can  _ just _ be your friend.” Draco couldn’t hold Harry’s gaze, and in that nervous flitting around of his eyes, the shuffling of his normally proud posture, Harry figured out what he meant.  _ I can’t just be your friend because I want more, and since it would hurt too much if it didn’t work, I can’t try. _

“Oh…Draco,” Harry’s voice was soft and sweet, and for a moment it looked like Malfoy would respond to that tenderness and change his mind. But instead, he slid away from the wall and went back inside without a word.

Harry hung back for a couple minutes, taking steadying breaths of the brisk November air before heading back inside. Ruby ran up to him.

“There you are! Since Draco is wearing his sulky face, I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” She asked gently, her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, it wasn’t – ” Harry stopped short as he saw Malfoy and Mark, tall, willowy, fashionable Mark, kissing not twenty feet away from where he stood. Mark broke the kiss and pulled Malfoy closer, whispering something in his ear. Draco grinned and then, looking over Mark’s shoulder, he caught Harry’s eye. Harry dropped his gaze automatically, self-preservation instinct kicking in. He didn’t care to see what cruelty was displayed in those grey eyes so he ran, fled like he was eleven years old again, small and scared. Ruby called after him, but he didn’t stop until he was outside.

Too distraught to calmly find a place to safely apparate, Harry took a bus home. Honestly, he was grateful for the time to think. Something about being in transit had always been soothing to him. The immediacy of apparating was convenient and obviously extremely helpful in many hazardous situations, the likes of which Harry had found himself in more than most people do in a lifetime. But at times like this, a long walk or a bus ride staring out the window at the scenery rushing by was more fitting. It struck him that, in a way, this was the kind of normal teenage moment he’d mostly missed out on. Any other time he’d fallen for someone, the prospect of impending death had loomed over the whole thing, overshadowing it with darkness. A boy he liked kissed someone else in front of him, and he ran off to be sad and alone. Harry huffed, a bitter sound from the depths of his throat, as he thought about how peculiar it was that Malfoy should be the one to give him that experience. And yet, it really wasn’t.

 

***

 

Harry flopped down on the couch, restless and inert all at once. After twenty minutes or so of lying there, staring off into space almost catatonically, he got up and opened the freezer, pulling out a half empty bottle of gin that had taken up residence there months ago. Brushing off the ice crystals that had gathered on the neck of the bottle, he poured some of the alcohol in a tumbler and topped it off with tonic. He wrapped himself up in a fuzzy blanket on the couch, only his hand peeking out to hold the drink, and watched the late night B horror movie show he loved. The absurdity of these cheesy, 1950s black and white horror films always put him in better spirits. This Friday's selection was  _ The Wasp Woman,  _ and the premise did not disappoint. Still, it wasn't distracting him as much as he hoped. He downed the gin and tonic and then another in hopes of warding off all thoughts of Draco.

Just as the female test subject of Dr. Zinthrop turned full on wasp, he heard a knock at the door.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me! Who in the fucking hell is it this time?! I swear, first thing tomorrow I'm installing a damn - " Harry froze as he opened the door.

"Draco?"

Draco traced the doorframe with tentative fingers, biting his lip and looking back and forth from Harry to the floor. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Harry was beyond perplexed.

"Can I come in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, if you want to drop by Tumblr to say hello, here I am! [It's me!](http://punchedbymarkesmith.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't plan on posting today, but I think this is a good stopping point. I'll save the parts I've written past this for the next one. :)

“Why are you here?” Harry fumed.

“I don’t know.” Draco avoided eye contact and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Malfoy, it’s about one in the morning, you’ve rejected me twice in as many weeks, and then tonight I had to watch you snog another man which, by the way, I’m fairly certain you did just to piss me off. Now you’re showing up at my door, probably drunk, without so much as a text warning. I’m going to need a little bit more than ‘I don’t know.’” Harry was livid, speech clipped and cold.

Draco’s bottom lip quivered as he raised his eyes.

“I…I just…fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He choked out. He raised a hand to cover his eyes as he started to sob, and even though Harry was still flushed with anger, fragments of sympathy skidded across his resistance. He ushered Draco inside, not sure if it was really a good idea but also not prepared to deal with an angry neighbor waking up to find a sobbing Malfoy standing in the hallway.

As soon as Draco sat down on the couch, he started to cry harder, and as much as Harry wanted to remain steely and withdrawn, he couldn’t resist the urge to sit down and put his arm around him.

“Did something happen to you tonight? Why did you come here?” Harry softly asked, stroking Draco’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I fucked it all up. It was like I was watching myself outside my body powerless to stop it, just an endless stream of word vomit. And then you came out tonight and gave me the chance to take it all back but I couldn’t...” Draco looked up at Harry, cheeks stained with tears, and it brought to mind the last time Harry had seen him cry. He had looked so helpless and fragile in that bathroom, sobbing in the mirror, tortured by dilemmas about which Harry speculated but didn’t fully grasp. It was one of the few choices in his life he truly regretted. As soon as Draco had collapsed to the ground, shivering and bleeding, he had wanted to take it back, reverse time and do something, _anything_ else. He couldn’t go back to that day and repair the mistake, but at least he could comfort Draco now. Maybe it would restore some balance to the karmic scales.

“ _Why_ couldn’t I just admit it? Why do I dig my heels in?! It’s like nothing’s fucking changed and I thought if I kissed him, you’d see it was a lost cause and so would I, but I didn’t I _didn’t_ it just made me feel worse, like someone had come in and hollowed me out to leave this husk and I…” Draco was nearly tripping over his words with the effort to expel them from his mouth as quickly as possible. He was breathing a little heavier than usual, his speech slightly slurred with drink, syllables broken from weeping.

“Shhh it’s okay, Draco. Calm down.” Harry heard himself, and momentarily balked at his conciliatory tone. He imagined how unfavorably Draco would take that if he weren’t inebriated and in the midst of an emotional breakdown. “Let me get you some water, and – ” 

“How can you say that? After everything?! I shouldn’t…you shouldn’t have even let me in, but you did and you’re taking care of me right now because of _course_ you are – ”

“Look, you’re drunk, and it’s late – ”

“No!” Draco turned to Harry, eyes wild and determined. “I mean, yes I am, but that’s not _why_ I’m saying this. It isn’t – ”

“I’m not questioning your sincerity.” _Although that’s exactly what I’m doing because in the morning you’ll have forgotten all about this and be stoic and antagonistic once again._ “I’m just saying that now is extremely _not_ the time to have this conversation. Let me get you some water, you can have my bed for the night, and I promise we’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

“I don’t want to wait. We’ve waited so long already. I don’t want to give myself any more time to…” He faltered, some remaining sober, common sense part of his mind kicking in.

“To back down? To change your mind?” Harry did his best to quell the animosity tinging the words, but he wasn’t entirely successful.

Draco’s whole body seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping and his fine features drooping.

“That’s what I thought. This is why you need to sleep it off before we talk about this anymore.”

One last bit of defiance flickered across Draco’s eyes before fatigue gained supremacy, and he gave Harry a small, defeated nod.

“Will you stay with me?”

“It’s my flat, Draco. I’m not very well going to leave at one in the morning to go sleep somewhere else, am I?”

“No, I mean…” Draco looked toward the bedroom, and Harry sighed.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“God, I’m not trying to _fuck_ you, Potter. Pretty sure I would fail spectacularly at that right now.”

Harry smiled a bit at that. _At least some of you is still visible underneath this slightly terrifying drunken display._

“That’s not what I meant.”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled, and Harry wanted to kiss that puzzled look right off his face. _But I won’t do it for the same reason I won’t get in bed with you and curve my body around yours. It’ll be that much more devastating when you reject me all over again in the morning._

“I just want to know you’re here,” Draco whispered, his eyes so mournful Harry had to look away.

“I _am_ here, and if you need anything at all, you can wake me up. But I’m sleeping on the couch tonight, and you’re sleeping in the bed, okay?”

Draco looked crestfallen, but he nodded all the same. Harry gave him a glass of water that he drained immediately. Harry refilled it and left it on the nightstand, knowing Malfoy would undoubtedly wake up thirsty from whatever potent mix of alcohol was flooding his bloodstream. He watched Draco nestle inside the comforter, already halfway to sleep by the time his head hit the pillow, and tamped down the desire to ignore his resolve of only a few minutes ago and drape himself across that svelte back. As he fashioned a nest out of blankets and pillows on the couch, he had an inkling that he wasn't going to breathe easy until the night faded into morning and Draco proved that he could actually keep his word.

 

***

 

Around six in the morning, Harry gave up on the unsatisfying fits and starts of sleep. The last few hours had been sketched by surface dreams that never quite dipped into truly immersive territory, the slightest provocation of the conscious world, a car horn, a bird singing its last fall song before migrating away from the coming frost, jerking him from the beckoning hands of slumber. Harry padded into the kitchenette, put the kettle on, and opened a book as he settled back onto the sofa. Watching a movie didn’t sound like it would require enough brain space to beat his body into exhaustion submission. Maybe a book would be involved enough to turn the switch in the desired direction. The kettle emitted its high-pitched whine, and Harry rushed in to silence it to avoid waking Draco. Armed with a steaming cup of Earl Grey, Harry cocooned himself with blankets in a corner of the couch and resumed reading.

Only half an hour later, Draco emerged, groggy and bemused as he turned to see Harry perched on the sofa. At some point during the night, he had shed the leather jacket and his normally impeccable hair was charmingly disheveled.

"What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same," Harry parried.

"That horrid restless sleep of the drunkard. Fitful and a waste of time. Decided to abandon all pretense and get up." Draco rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

"You weren’t going to run out while I slept, were you?"

"After I showed up at your door ranting about how badly I fucked up like the protagonist of a Nora Ephron film? Can you blame me? On the other hand, you have too much blackmail material on me now. Might be wiser to keep you close and monitor your every move." Draco looked about ten shades of uncomfortable. Harry tried to mentally merge all the versions of Malfoys he had known. The misguided bully he grew up with, the man he’d kissed in this very room, the man who had cruelly rejected him, and the needy boy who turned up at his doorstep last night, marinated in whiskey, dejected, and begging for forgiveness. Somehow these were all the same person, and that was a staggering reality to process.

"You know who Nora Ephron is?" Harry teased with a chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the coffee table.

"It's been over a year in Muggle London, okay? I've learned a few things and watched more than a few inane Hollywood movies.” Draco smiled before his expression turned grave. “Look, Harry…I shouldn’t have come over last night. I’m beyond ashamed, and while I appreciate you giving me a bed for the night instead of turning me away like any sane person would have done, I think it’s best if I – "

"Stop with this bullshit, Malfoy." Harry didn’t snap at him exactly, but there was an unambiguously hard edge to the words. Maybe it was the fact that Harry hadn’t been allowed more than half an hour to adjust to being awake before being confronted with Malfoy’s cowardice or maybe it the whiplash effect of dealing with their oscillating relationship dynamics of the past few weeks, but Harry was ready to match him sardonic note for sardonic note and finish this once and for all even if it killed them both. "No more hot and cold. No more running. We got close, you got scared and insecure, and your first instinct when that happens is to hurt me or to run. I _know_ you, Draco. You’re different, but what I’ve figured out is you’re the same too. You want this, and so do I. Don’t fall into old patterns just because it’s convenient.”

Draco glowered, posture rigid as he crossed his arms.

"Kindly fuck off, Potter. You don't know me, no matter how much you think you do. Save your armchair psychology for someone else."

"And what about last night?”

"Alcohol's a hell of a drug," Draco practically sneered.

"How original. Wear your heart on your sleeve and then withdraw and blame it on the booze in the morning. You're better than that, Draco,” Harry retorted, rising from the couch and taking a couple steps toward him.

"Oh come off your lecturing high horse! I'm not better than that, and you know it. You of _all_ people know it."

"And that would be easier for you, wouldn’t it? If I went the self-fulfilling prophecy route and just expected you to fuck up like you have in the past? I won’t give that to you.”

"I..." Malfoy ran a hand down the length of his angular face and exhaled slowly. “I’m clearly a fucking basket case. The last couple of weeks surely have taught you this. Are you prepared for that? Come on, Harry. Inject a little realism into your life philosophy.”

Harry walked forward until they were only a few inches apart and gripped Draco’s chin between thumb and forefinger.

“If you leave right now, I swear to Merlin I will finally snap and kill you. They’ll have to cart me off to Azkaban because Draco Malfoy couldn’t make up his bloody mind about whether or not he wanted to date Harry Potter. If you need hangover potion, I have that. If you are, understandably, not feeling your sharpest this morning, I have coffee. Fuck, I will make you scrambled eggs and pancakes if you want, but you will sit on that couch until we resolve this and you stop being an idiot. If I have to fucking tie you to the furniture, I will.”  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes indignantly, and then his opposition broke. He snickered and reached up to circle Harry’s wrist with his bony fingers.

“Sounds kinky. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the bondage sort, Potter.”  
  
“Shut it. Neither of us are leaving until everything has been said, and we’re either boyfriends or we’ve strangled each other. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco purred. Harry sighed and walked over to the couch, sitting near the middle and seeking the warmth of the blankets once again. He raised the covers in invitation, and Draco paused for a moment before sliding in to huddle under the fluffy cotton.

“No longer scared of being this close to me?” Draco smiled wanly and took care to leave a few inches between them.

“So you remember that, then?”

“Me pathetically begging you to sleep with me? Unfortunately, yes. It appears I drank just enough to be a regrettably tearful mess but not enough to blackout. What were you reading?" Draco quickly changed the subject as he drew the blankets up to his neck and nodded at the discarded paperback on the coffee table.

"Franny and Zooey."

"I’m surprised you’re a reader although I suppose years of being in close quarters with Granger might make you absorb the habit by osmosis.”

"I love Salinger. I've read this one four times."

"Ugh, his faux intellectualism is so tedious. There's no substance behind it, and every character is infuriatingly self-involved."

"Hits a little too close to home, eh?” Harry smirked and leaned his shoulder against Draco's.

"I hate you,” Draco muttered, but the way he bent his head to snuggle against Harry’s shoulder belied that statement.

Harry carded his fingers through Draco's hair and debated what to say next. He wanted to tread carefully but also knew all cards were on the table at this point. Any more tiptoeing was needless.

Harry leaned his cheek against the softness of Draco's hair and hummed in pleasure. Less than twenty four hours ago, he wasn't sure if he would ever get to be this close to Draco again. He inhaled the scent of him and even though there was a stale lingering aroma of alcohol and cigarettes, it was a relief to be this near. Draco was the first to break the silence.

"I shouldn't have talked to you like I did."

"You'll have to be more specific." He meant it to come out in a jocular tone but instead it sounded severe, the words loaded with every past and present conflict between them.

"Pick a time. Any time," Draco whispered despondently.

"I shouldn't have pushed you to be comfortable with being an _us_ so soon,” Harry offered. “It's a big gap to bridge, and I shouldn't have assumed you were ready just because I was. It's not the sort of thing anyone should rush. I suppose it was a bit selfish to storm into the shop, but it was killing me waiting around for you to call."

“I don’t know. I rather liked that bit.” Draco walked his fingers across Harry’s stomach, and Harry squirmed under the feather-light touch, fighting off the ticklish sensation building beneath his skin.

“Oh?”

“You’re always putting other people’s needs before yourself which I can hardly complain about considering I’m a direct beneficiary of that tendency, but it was kind of hot to see you march in there and demand what you wanted. Not to mention the fact that what you wanted was me.”

“You know, you were the initiator in most of this. The one commanding me to keep you warm on my balcony.”

"I wanted what I wanted in the moment regardless of whether or not I was ready to process it later. Id and super-ego at war." Draco looked up at Harry, and the genuineness he found in those beautiful eyes made his pulse quicken. He seemed receptive enough for Harry to take a gamble.

"And what are you ready for now?"

Draco groaned and hid his face against Harry’s shoulder. 

“Where’s the hangover potion and coffee I was promised?”

Harry chuckled.

“I did promise that.” _And Merlin knows neither one of us are getting through this without caffeine._ “Can I kiss you first?”

“God, no!” Draco’s head shot up, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I smell like the floor of a distillery after the explosion of a particularly formidable batch of bourbon.”

“When did you develop the taste for that, by the way?”

“Right around the time I was waist deep in a Raymond Chandler obsession, I think.” Draco grimaced as though bracing himself for a sarcastic remark from Harry.

“Draco Malfoy, you are endlessly fascinating. Now kiss me with your disgusting, fermented mouth.”

Draco still appeared doubtful but regardless, he leaned in and joined their mouths. Draco’s lips were soft, but he hadn’t been exaggerating about the foul aftereffects of last night’s indulgence. Harry pulled away and tried not to cringe, but Malfoy caught him and laughed.

“Listen to me next time.”

“I most certainly will.” Cringing, Harry got up from the couch to get Draco the potion and start on the coffee. A few minutes later, mugs in hand, they exchanged _so what the fuck do we do now_ looks, and this time Harry chose to be the one to plunge into the murky waters.

“I think you were right about some things.”

“Care to elaborate?” Draco propped his socked feet on the edge of the coffee table and took a gulp from his mug.

“What you said about how you were just starting to be okay…I don’t want to upset the balance of your life.”

“Harry, I was being ridiculous. You’re not responsible for  – ”

“No, I think it was a really persuasive point! And your well-being is important to me. We did sort of go from whatever neutral, undefined territory we were existing in to becoming friends to…” Lovers sounded far too “romance novel”, and likewise, Harry was opposed to using intimate like Hermione had. “Whatever in the span of a few months. I have a solution to propose.”

“From the way you’re looking at me, I’m not sure I’m going to like this solution.” Draco raised an eyebrow and leaned his elbow against the back of the couch.

“Honestly, I’m not sure you will either. I don’t think we should have sex.” Harry said it in a nearly incoherent rush, the words blending together as though that would soften the impact. “At least not for a while. We have a lot to talk about, and maybe we'll do better at that if we're not...distracted.”

Draco snorted.

"How considerate of you. Obviously, your body is just too ideal for me to be capable of thinking clearly in the presence of its majesty."

"Don't be like that. You know I have a point. Is that...not something you think you can do? Ruby always makes it sound - "

"Like I'm some wanton slave to my urges? That's because she was there for me discovering my sexuality and messily navigating it. She used to call me 'Princess Slut' because it took me forever to go beyond making out in bars with every guy I fancied."

"Why was that?"

Draco shrugged and leaned his head against his upper arm.

"A myriad of reasons. My family had a pretty severe reaction to me coming out, and as much as I would love to say I had nothing but a devil-may-care attitude about it, it was hard not to absorb some residual shame. Then there's the matter of me having zero idea what the fuck I was doing or how to go about it. And..." Draco shifted on the couch self-consciously. "Just other stuff, but I really haven't had actual sex with that many men. It's not about me being some sex-crazed maniac who can't stand being temporarily celibate or I'll combust. It's about the fact that I've never wanted to have sex with anyone as much as I want to with you so it's...harder to imagine going without."

Draco stopped and exhaled wearily, legs jiggling anxiously.

"Sod it all, this vulnerability shit is for the birds. I'm so bloody awful at it."

"You're better at it than you think you are. We might have a ways to go, but it's kind of amazing how much we've talked about." Harry smiled and put a hand around one of Draco's bouncing knees. Something occurred to him, and while he was unsure if vocalizing it would activate that stray cat fight-or-flight urge in Draco, he asked anyway. "How long have you liked me this way?"

"Are you wondering if I've been harboring a hidden Potter obsession? Oh you’d just love that, wouldn’t you? Me carrying a torch for you for years like some Victorian spinster tucked away in a dilapidated house on the marsh." Draco jerked his knee away.

“How long, Draco?” Harry persisted.

“Suffice it to say…significantly longer than the feeling has been mutual,” Draco grudgingly admitted.

Harry gazed at him affectionately as he realized what was bothering Draco.

"You think this means more to you than it does to me."

"Correction, I _know_ it does. Whatever, it's not like I can blame you. My behavior in school didn't exactly give you a laundry list of reasons to want me in your bed."

"Maybe it's taken me longer, but that doesn't mean my feelings don't matter as much or aren't as intense as yours. I wish you'd see how much I care for you." Harry scooted closer and put his arm around Draco, who relaxed into the embrace.

"Fucking me might help prove that." Draco gave him a cheeky smirk, and Harry shook his head with a fond sigh.

"I think my friends really underestimate the entertainment value you bring to a relationship."

"I agree. I am quite frequently hilarious." Draco squeezed Harry's thigh. “I suppose I could adhere to that rule for now. I guess I can understand how it might be… _helpful_.”

“Good. I think it will be.”

A hush filled the room once again as they both processed everything that had been said.

"I believe your stipulations were that we end up boyfriends or throttle each other so does that mean..."

"I believe it does." Harry nodded, the butterflies in his stomach doing double time flips.

"This is so fucked up." Draco laughed softly and gazed longingly at Harry's mouth.

"Which means it's perfect for us. Do you have to work today?" Harry nuzzled against Draco's neck and stroked that silky hair he didn't think he'd ever get enough of.

"No."

"Want to take a nap with me? I think we're both pretty drained," Harry drawled sleepily, a yawn burgeoning in his throat.

"I would love that, but first, do you have any mouthwash so I can rid myself of this rancid mouth?"

Harry laughed and waved toward the bathroom.

"Under the sink."

Draco returned a moment later, refreshed and minty, to find Harry eyeing him curiously.

"You're staring," Draco observed suspiciously.

"You could have done a cleaning charm. I rarely see you do magic and definitely never for simple things like that. I don't know why I didn't notice it earlier."

"Well, you're never been known for being particularly observant. And what about you? That bedroom floor wouldn’t look like a thrift store fitting room if you used your wand properly." Trust Draco to find time between a drunken breakdown and hungover morning to judge Harry's housekeeping skills.

"You do love to deflect."

Draco rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine, you've got me. I have taken measures since I moved here to avoid using charms for every little daily inconvenience. Felt endemic to the healing process to wean myself off the habit. Easier to remember not to do it in front of Muggles if I never did it at all too."

"You wanted to make it harder on yourself."

"When you put it that way, it has a religious-flogging-penance ring to it that I rather object to, but yes. That was the general idea."

"You're welcome to do some here if you like."

"Are you implying that I need your tutelage? Because I promise you, out of practice or not, I could take you down in a duel easily. I always was better than you,” Draco insisted smugly.

"I’ve no doubt, you arse. I just meant that having another wizard around affords you the chance to do it safely if you’re considering it. I doubt you're planning on staying in the Muggle world forever." Harry bit his lip after he said it, worried he had waded into territory Draco would berate him for addressing. That was a whole other conversation they didn’t have the time or stamina for right now. Luckily, Draco chose to ignore the darker, heavier implications.

"Okay. That'd be nice, but for now, can we?" Draco waved toward the bedroom, and Harry stood up, laced their fingers together, and led him to the bed. Harry was now hyper aware of the sartorial mess on the floor but obstinately refused to clean it up unless he be seen as giving into Draco, who would surely look very self-satisfied if he did so.

"You are the big spoon this morning, and there will be no negotiations about it. Unless...is that not allowed?"

"If you think holding and kissing you is off the table, you've lost your marbles. No force of nature could stop me from doing that."

Draco smiled triumphantly and climbed into bed, his back to Harry. Harry folded his arm around Draco’s waist and settled his chin on his pale shoulder. Draco wriggled a bit in his grasp, shifting until their legs were aligned, every possible point of contact achieved.

“Should we set an alarm?” Harry whispered, already starting to drift off as Draco’s body heat flowed through him.

“No. We’ll get up when we feel like it.”

Harry smiled and closed his heavy eyelids.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who have read other fics by me know that I am HORRIBLE at drawing out angst. I have too much of a penchant for forcing boys to talk things out like adults and get over themselves. :P So I hope you don't mind that things have made their way back around to fluff already!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're into Drarry spending their first day as boyfriends watching cheesy horror movies, eating takeout, bonding over sexuality/identity struggles, and getting smutty because that's all this chapter is. :) Kudos and comments give me life!
> 
> Again, this is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy it!

When Harry woke up, eyelids fluttering as he adjusted to the early afternoon light, Draco was on his back, phone in hand. Harry’s head was laying on Draco’s chest, arm slung around his hips.

“Mmm, what are you doing?” Harry asked, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Letting Ruby know I’m alive and didn’t spend the night passed out next to a sewer drain. There may have been some deranged mumbling about you before I fled her party. Apparently, I left her a little alarmed.” Draco finished typing, set the phone back on the nightstand, and snaked his now free arm around Harry’s back.

“She’s really good to you.”

“I know. I don’t deserve her.” Draco took a deep breath, and Harry could feel his chest expand and contract underneath him.

“What time is it?” Harry yawned and slung a knee over Draco’s thigh.

“Quarter after one, also known as ‘time for you to make me those pancakes and eggs.’” Draco pinched the skin just above Harry’s hip, and he squirmed with a chuckle.

“We haven’t even been together for twenty-four hours, and you’re already proving to be a very high maintenance boyfriend.”

“Can you honestly say that isn’t exactly what you expected?”

“Of course. Aligns perfectly with your pining Victorian lady image. You definitely look frail enough to come down with mysterious ailments like the consumption and the vapors. Ow!” Harry flinched as Draco pinched him again, harder this time.

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel good about my body? Otherwise, what’s the point in having a boyfriend? I’ll have you know that my _physique_ is considered highly desirable in the gay community.”

“I meant it in the most flattering of ways! Your body looks lovely and willowy and delicate and precious.” Harry kissed Draco’s clavicle to illustrate his point.

“You’re a very saccharine sort, Potter,” Draco said, feigning revulsion.

“You want me to go back to insulting you instead? You’re maddeningly fickle, Malfoy.”

“If that’s the unwieldy way in which you deliver compliments, then yes, I do.”

Neither of them moved, both fully awake but still languorous and in no hurry to leave bed.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned back enough to see Draco’s face.

“Sure you’re not avoiding sex because you’re scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“You’ve never done it. Not with a man, anyway.”

“I’m not scared!” Harry objected a little too loudly.

“No better way to disprove that than by disputing it while sounding really, really offended,” Draco teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he ran his hand up and down Harry’s side.

“That’s just me being exasperated with you. In other words, my natural state of being.” Harry smiled and kissed Draco’s neck. Draco moaned softly and stretched back to expose more of his ivory throat. “Besides, you shouldn’t throw stones. Didn’t you tell me not a few hours ago that you were scared when you realized you were…”

Harry scrunched up his forehead as he realized a bit of semantics he hadn’t previously caught.

“Wait, when I asked if you were gay, you didn’t say yes. You said you were ‘queer.’”

“Well well, look who _can_ be observant albeit three whole months down the line. I did say that, but it’s just because I like that classification. I like how it sounds, I like how it feels, I like that it’s this overarching term that doesn’t let people pigeonhole you or assign their own specifics to your identity. They have to guess, and unless they’re a completely rude or oblivious twat, they don’t pry about the details. The people who really know me, know what I mean. But for all intents and purposes, yes I am gay. I only desire genitalia in cock form.” Draco slid down the bed and turned until they were facing each other. “And yes, I _was_ scared which is why I asked you. Thought I should let you know it’s okay if you are too. I understand, and I wouldn’t…I would make sure you were okay every step of the way. I don’t want you to be laboring under the assumption that I would try to make you feel shitty about your inexperience.”

“How many people know you can be this sweet and considerate?” Harry cradled Draco’s face, stroking the smooth skin of his cheek. The tops of his cheekbones were a little cold. It was almost time to turn the heat on, the average temperature dipping lower every day, the days growing shorter as the sun stayed in hiding longer.

“Not many, and if you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you. I have a reputation to maintain.” Draco pulled him closer until their hips were flush, and Harry tried to ignore the sparks that sent through his groin.

“Can I ask you something you may not want to answer?”

Draco nodded, fingers skating up Harry’s arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

“You mentioned that your parents know you’re gay, and it didn’t go well. Do you see them? Either of them? Do they know you’re here? In London, I mean. Have they come round to the idea now that some time has passed or did you only tell them recently?”

“Christ, that’s quite the barrage, Potter.”

“Sorry. I always avoid asking about them, but…I do wonder.” Harry pushed his hand under Draco’s shirt to stroke the small of his back, and Draco’s eyes softened marginally.

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t have any easy, succinct answers for you. It’s…saying it’s complicated doesn’t really begin to cover it.” Draco nibbled on his bottom lip, pupils dilated in concentration as he considered his words. “They know I’m in London although not specifically where. I think seeing my apartment would be the thing to finally do mother in. Her upper crust heart couldn’t take it, and my father…well, for obvious reasons, he wouldn’t be able to see it even if he wanted to.”

Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy, hoping to telegraph sympathy through the touch. He knew Draco detested pity, and there wasn’t really a good way to say _“Sorry your father is in Azkaban. He’s a horrible human being, but he’s still your father.”_ Any sentiment seemed insufficient and like walking into a minefield, so Harry remained quiet.

“I think you know enough of my family to know how important it is to make an heir and carry on the Malfoy name. Naturally, the whole affinity for cocks and only cocks doesn't lend itself to having children in the traditional way. So it didn’t exactly go over well with father, not that I give a shit…I mean, I _do_.” Draco rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. “I do and I don’t. It’s hard to explain. I know he’s terribly wrong, not just about that but about damn near everything. And obviously he wasn’t the most emotionally available father, but he’s still the only father I have. As for mother, she’s actually…getting distance from father has helped her a lot. I think she and I are going to be fine even if we still don't see eye to eye on everything. It's better than it was. I think she mostly just worries, you know? Would prefer to have me closer and be able to take care of me herself. Maybe she feels guilty or something. I refused to take money after a while. She took it as a personal affront and didn't understand why it was vital to me. Merlin, I haven't talked about them this much in months."

"You don't have to if it's too weird." Harry kissed his way up Draco's neck and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. Hearing Draco confide in him about the convoluted wreckage that was his family post-war erased all of Harry's worries about where they were headed. It was an immense display of trust, especially considering how much he had historically avoided it. "I'm glad you're talking about it though."

"It surprisingly feels good. Although I'm not going to be very coherent if you keep doing that." Draco moaned and clutched at Harry's shoulders. Harry felt that throb below his waist again and pulled back to separate himself from the temptation to surge forward. Harry wanted to tell Draco about the Horcrux, wanted to tell him to thank his mother for what she did, wanted to tell him how he went to a celestial version of King's Cross, but it was too much for the moment. They had time.

"Maybe we should get out of bed. I _do_ owe you pancakes." Harry planted a kiss on Draco's forehead and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

***

 

"Potter, I was all set to mercilessly taunt your culinary skills, but I am rather impressed and quite sated." Draco hummed in satisfaction and brought a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth.

"The Dursleys always made me cook for them so I had a lot more practice than most kids. Probably the only positive to come out of that living arrangement." He ate a bite of fluffy buttermilk pancake laden with butter and took a second to admire the site of posh Draco Malfoy sitting on his couch in a Smiths t-shirt and jeans, plate of food balanced precariously on his knees.

"Did you really live in a cupboard under the stairs?" Draco asked tentatively, setting his empty plate down on the table and taking a sip of coffee.

"Yeah, among other things..." Harry muttered, shoving another forkful in his mouth.

"Sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"No, it's only fair. I've been asking you plenty. They were fairly abusive. I was glad to be rid of them. Let’s leave it at that."

"Abusive first half of childhood followed by second half spent trying to outrun the most powerful dark wizard as he sought to kill you. Why haven't you written a book yet? You’d never have to work again,” Draco joked.

“Right, and draw even more attention to myself because I am such a rabid fan of the spotlight.” Harry took the last bite of his delayed breakfast and carried both plates to the sink.

“You really do hate the attention, don’t you? Most people would kill to be noticed the way you are.” There was a touch of resentment in that sentence, and Harry thought back on Malfoy’s torment of him and his friends. In his mind’s eye, he saw a little boy desperate for attention enviously watching the three of them garner praise in a house full of virtuous connotation while Dumbledore made his dubious trust of Slytherin house and the fate of the young wizards nurtured by it rather blatantly known. Scattered bits of Malfoy’s past motivations and the experiences and ideas that had shaped him were arranging themselves in Harry’s brain with rapidity lately. He knew he would never have a complete picture of Malfoy, but could anyone really have a flawlessly constructed diagram of another person? Even those held dearest to us retained enigmatic portions of their character, obscured patches of their innerworkings that could never be illuminated. But he was finally beginning to feel like he had a grasp on who Draco was, had been, and would be.

“But they don’t really understand everything that comes with that, do they?” Harry gave the plates a cursory rinse before heading back to the couch.

“No, I doubt any of them do,” Draco agreed. They sat quietly for a few minutes, periodically glancing at each other with uneasy smiles, neither sure where to proceed from here. “Well…now that you’ve fed me, I guess I’ll leave you to your own devices. I’m sure you’ve seen enough of my face for one day.”

Draco moved to stand, but Harry put a hand on his thigh.

“You don’t have to. I mean, I don’t want to smother you or anything, but I don’t want you to go just because you think you should either.”

“You sure?” Draco narrowed his eyes a little, evaluating Harry’s authenticity.

“Yeah, I’d like to spend the day with you. But again, only if you want to.” Harry’s skin tingled, and that flock of butterflies started doing loops of figure eights deep in his stomach again. He’d never been this giddy around someone he liked. Not even when he was a clumsy fourteen-year-old crushing on Cho Chang. Draco’s very presence made him lightheaded and unbalanced, but it was addictive even in its terrifying intensity.

“You’re really adorable when you’re nervous.” Draco leaned in and brushed the hair back from Harry’s forehead. “Did that first bloke you kissed make you this nervous?”

“No, not at all,” Harry breathed, leaning into Draco’s hand. “Truth be told, no one else has.”

A slow, complacent smile spread across Draco’s plush lips.

“Tell me about it?”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

“You will have to forcibly remove me. I’m your freeloading subtenant for the day. All for the low price of the story of your first ungainly homoerotic experience.” Draco scooted back to lean his head against the arm of the couch and lay his feet in Harry’s lap.

“Using me as a footstool now?”

“Yep.”

“I like your socks.” Harry cradled one fine-boned ankle. Draco’s socks were rainbow striped, a splash of color underneath the black of his jeans.

“Thank you, but you’re stalling. Story time. If I recall, you said the circumstances were less than ideal?”

“Fine fine. Okay, yeah it was…sort of weird how it happened. I’m not sure if you know I dated Ginny for a bit? The war was full blown by the time anything really happened between us so I don’t know how many people noticed.”

“The Weaslette?!” Draco wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, stop it! Yes, Ron’s sister.” Harry sighed in irritation.

“No, it’s just…I imagine that would be too close to snogging Ron himself. I don’t know. Seems like it would feel strange. They’re your unofficial family, aren’t they?” Draco shrugged and tucked his hands between his bent legs.

“You’re right, actually. It almost felt like she was _my_ sister. I thought I liked her as more, but…I just couldn’t get comfortable and neither could she. I think Ron was relieved that we both found that to be the case. Anyway, before we officially broke up, I might have kissed her ex-boyfriend whilst she was in the next room.” Harry’s face contorted, one eye scrunched closed as he relived that incredibly inelegant moment.

“Potter! Positively scandalous! I didn’t think you had the potential for something like that.” Draco beamed as he poked Harry in the ribs with his foot. “I’m almost proud. Anyone I know?”

“Michael Corner? He was a Ravenclaw in our year.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to. He mostly kept to himself. It wasn’t my finest hour. I still don’t know how it happened. One minute we were talking about Quidditch, the next I was staring at his lips, and well…you know. Firewhiskey is a cruel mistress.” Harry recollected gawking at Michael’s red, full lips, the alcohol buzzing within his every cell and overriding all sense of propriety. It was like being drawn to shipwreck by a siren, a craving he hadn’t realized was so fervid and irrefutable until that moment. It was not a craving for Michael specifically. He was incidental, a casualty of carnal epiphany Harry didn’t really value, which made the blunder seem all the worse when they were discovered. “That isn’t the worst of it though. Ginny walked in right then, and we rebounded off each other faster than a Snitch in a tornado. I tripped and fell off my chair. It was awful. Thankfully, Ginny was more amused than anything else. That’s what led to us having the ‘this is weird and not working let’s go back to being friends’ conversation. Needless to say, we did NOT tell Ron how we arrived at that. Merlin knows he would have lost his head over me cheating on his little sister.”

Draco was howling with laughter at that point, clutching his flat stomach, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He sucked in a stabilizing breath and wiped one eye with the back of his hand.

“That was even better than I thought it would be. Thank you.”

“Glad my mortification can provide you with such pure joy.” Harry tickled the bottom of Draco’s feet in retribution until Draco jerked them off his lap.

“How are things between you and the young Weasley lass now?”

“Really good. She’s a big part of why I came out to Ron and Hermione so quickly. She convinced me it wouldn’t be a big deal, and it wasn’t.” Harry smiled fondly as he thought back on how kind and encouraging Ginny had been. He was so grateful to have the Weasley family in his life.

“Good to hear. Have to say, I’m a bit shocked that Ron didn’t react badly.” Draco folded his arms behind his head and stretched his torso, his shirt riding up a little to reveal a ribbon of creamy skin. Harry dutifully shunned all thoughts of dragging his tongue across it, crossing his legs to discourage his cock from disobeying him.

“He was really _nice_ about it but about as ignorant as you’d expect too.” Harry laughed.

“Spouting every typical, trite heterosexual male question?” Draco deduced.

“I filled up my bingo card, Draco. I had to literally bite my tongue to stifle the laughter when he said ‘but what do you mean, you like both? Don’t they do…different things?’” Both boys laughed at poor Ron’s clueless expense.

“To be honest, I would have expected the same straight boy brain aneurysm from you, Potter.”

“You’re not totally wrong. I was pretty daft about all this before the war, but after…I don’t know, it was like some switch went off in my brain. I had time to think about other things. Not being in constant mortal danger has that effect. Everything feels like less of an identity crisis when you’ve already been to hell and back.”

“Quite true.” Draco reached out a hand, and Harry met him halfway, entwining their fingers. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you that you don’t have to have a 50/50 distribution of attraction to identify as bisexual. That’s some gatekeeping bullshit exclusionary gays try to pull. You’re queer enough, you’re bisexual enough if that’s how you want to label yourself. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.” 

“Thank you for saying that. I might settle on ‘queer.’ I heavily relate to what you said about how the word feels.” Harry smiled at him and raised Draco’s arm enough to kiss his wrist. “What about your first gay kiss? Quid pro quo, Draco.”

“Some Scotsman named Aidan. It was sudden. I didn’t really have time to register what was happening. I was so…I couldn’t read cues in gay bars at first. I didn’t know the language of glances and nods and subtle touches. It’s like ‘blink twice and that means I’ll suck you off in the back.’ Not that you’re, like, in a contract or something if you do the wrong thing, but it’s easy to end up in a misunderstanding if you’re new to it all. It was pretty intimidating at first.” Draco shook his head, grinning wistfully. “He stroked my arm, I didn’t move, and then his tongue was in my mouth. I jumped back and told him to fuck off and he looked aghast like _I_ was the one with the problem. That’s when Ruby took me aside and gave me a crash course in the nuances of gay body language.”

“You’re really lucky you stumbled across her.”

“I am. It’s odd. If anyone else were that goddamn chatty and annoyingly perky, I would have run in the opposite direction as fast as my legs could carry me. I just had a good feeling about her when I went to view that apartment. Felt like I’d be safe there.”

“It makes it easier. Having a friend when you move to a new place.”

“Yeah, it does.” Draco maneuvered until he was sitting upright again. “Alright, as much I adore yammering on about myself as I am an exceptionally enchanting person, I think I’ve reached my quota for the day. Let’s please do something else.”

“How do you feel about black and white horror movies of abysmal quality?”

Draco tilted his head and studied Harry, uncertain where this was going.

“You are an exceedingly strange one, Potter.”

 

***

 

“This is, without a doubt, the absolute worst piece of shit every committed to screen. Why do you watch these?!” Draco frowned and took another bite of tofu.

“Because they’re hysterical! It’s hard to be in a bad mood when a glorified carpet is stalking people at the pace of a really old, arthritic turtle. I mean, look at that!” Harry laughed and pointed at the screen with his chopsticks.

Draco snickered as the titular character of _The Creeping Terror_ lumbered toward its next intended victim.

“They certainly got the ‘creeping’ part right, good fucking god. And what did they use to light this movie? The inside of a fucking microwave?! Forty watt bulbs reflected off tinfoil?!”

Harry got lost in a fit of giggles, putting his food down to avoid a choking risk. Draco joined him, both of them breathless as the “monster” took ten minutes to swallow a girl whole.

“I know! It’s almost – ” Harry paused to catch his breath, the giggles finally receding, “an accomplishment, how bad the quality is. Like…it seems like you’d have to _try_ to make it look this bad.”

“Seriously. You what isn’t bad though is this mapo tofu. I love the variety of food in London so much and am forever pissed I missed out on it for so long.”

“Right? On my laziest weeks, I order a truckload from this place and eat it all week. I could live off Sichuan.”

Harry watched Draco scoop up another bit of rice and spicy tofu, and his heart felt so full he thought it might burst. It had been a pretty excellent first day of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter as boyfriends. He thought he could get very, very used to this. 

Halfway through _The Mole People_ , Draco raised his head from where it had been resting on Harry’s shoulder and gave him a rather intense look.

“What?” Harry cautiously asked.

“I’ve been dutifully trying not to jump you all day and be as chaste as possible, but I think I’m going to actually die if I don’t kiss you,” Draco confessed.

“You’re allowed to kiss me. We already went over that.”

Draco wet his lips and leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Harry, trust me when I say that the way I’m going to kiss you will be so positively filthy, there will be no way to mistake it for anything other than what it really is: me begging you to take me to bed.”

Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head, his whole body igniting in a swiftly spreading heat he couldn’t suppress.

“Damn it, Draco – ” Harry closed his eyes and squeezed his thighs with both hands in a futile attempt to anchor the lust swimming within him. Draco reached up with a blanket-warm palm and gently tilted Harry’s face toward him.

“Open your eyes, Harry.”

“No.”

“No?” Draco laughed softly.

“If I look at you…looking at _me_ …there will be no hope whatsoever that I can control myself. Just give me a minute.”

“Harry…” Draco whispered, and his voice was so sultry and enticing that Harry actually whimpered. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes and looked at the gorgeous man next to him. Harry swallowed audibly, the lump in his throat refusing to dissolve.

“I’m not going to run again. I will be stubborn and difficult and I’ll try your patience on so many levels. _That_ I’m sure of, but I’m not leaving again. Touching you isn’t going to scare me off. Now, if you’re not ready yet, that’s fine. If it’s too much too soon, I understand. But,” Draco kissed Harry’s lips, “if,” then the edge of his cheek where it met his ear, “all that’s holding you back,” then the length of his neck, “is worrying about me, I’m telling you that you needn’t do that.”

Harry moaned as Draco began to suck on the space between his neck and shoulder, but shook himself from the trance he was falling into as he remembered Draco’s words from that morning. _I wanted what I wanted in the moment._ He nudged Draco away and shook his head.

“You say that now, but if you change your mind again, I’ll – ” _I’ll be fucking crushed. You can’t do that to me. Not again._

Draco’s eyes turned somber, and he snatched Harry’s phone from the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Harry queried warily.

“You make a very cogent argument so I’m making a security deposit of sorts. Something that will make it evident beyond a doubt that I am _not_ being capricious this time.” Draco selected something with the pad of his index finger, angling the phone so Harry couldn’t see. Harry tried to grab at it, and Draco twisted away.

“What are you doing?!” Harry asked more forcefully.

“Getting ready to type a message in your group text with Hermione and Ron,” Draco said nonchalantly.

“What?! Don’t!” Harry lunged at the phone, collapsing on top of Malfoy as he raised the phone as high as he could.

“I thought they knew everything now. Why does it matter if I send this?” Draco slanted his eyes and moved the phone behind his back just as Harry’s fingers grasped the edge.

“They _do_ , but Merlin knows what the hell you’re going to say. Plus, I’d like the privilege of,” Harry shot a hand behind Draco’s back, but Draco swapped the phone between hands and raised it high again, “controlling the narrative myself. Oh this is so fucking stupid! Are we twelve years old?! I believe you, alright! Just give me the bloody phone!”

“Fine.” Draco grinned and tossed it on the cushion. Harry pounced on it before Malfoy could attempt any more shenanigans. Checking the group message, he was relieved to see that there weren’t any new texts sent from his number.

Panting, Harry set the phone back down and turned back to Draco, suddenly very aware that he was straddling Draco’s lap.

“Did you do this just to get me into a compromising position?”

“No, but it’s a very welcome bonus result.” Draco hooked his fingers in two of the belt loops of Harry’s jeans and hauled him closer. Harry let out a little yelp and grabbed Draco’s shoulders for balance. He debated resisting again, trying to be pragmatic about this, but the libidinous tint of Draco’s eyes halted that train of thought. He gave in to the magnetic pull of the desire radiating off Draco and mingling with his own. When their mouths crashed together, they both let out groans of relief, hands immediately threading in one another’s hair. The kiss only grew hungrier, the need to be close only growing more urgent with every second, the irresistible hot slide of their lips and tongues no longer enough. Harry wanted that lovely mouth everywhere, and wanted to cover every inch of Draco’s alabaster skin with his own. Draco’s fingers pulled at the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, yanking it up to expose his back and stomach until Harry took the hint and finished the job.

Since their first kiss hadn’t progressed beyond that, this was the first time Harry had been anything less than fully clothed in Draco’s presence. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t self-conscious, wasn’t possessed with the urge to cover up, wasn’t worried about how his body would be received. He knew Draco wanted him in equal measure and was as eager to see his body as Harry was to see his. Draco ran his hands over Harry’s chest and stomach, played with the trail of hair running from his navel down to the area still hidden below his jeans and the soft tufts near the middle of his chest. Draco was thoroughly captivated by the sight of his naked torso, and Harry treasured the way he was drinking in the sight like he was a rare and precious artifact. No one had ever looked at him quite like that.

“I’ve spent so much time thinking about how you would look,” Draco admitted breathlessly, tracing the contour of Harry’s collarbone.

“How does the reality compare?” Harry whispered, stroking Draco’s forearm.

“Blows the fantasy out of the fucking water.” Draco smiled and claimed his mouth again, lips traveling down to caress every bit of newly exposed skin. His tongue laved over one of Harry’s nipples, and Harry’s hips bucked in Draco’s lap. When he sucked the stiff bud into his mouth, teeth grazing with the perfect pressure, Harry whimpered and tugged at Draco’s shirt. He couldn’t wait any longer, needed to undress him until they were matched, until he could feel that delicious press of skin against skin. Draco pulled the t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Harry moved to touch him but stopped short when he was confronted with the evidence of his deepest regret. The scars marred Draco’s chest and torso in three irregular, jagged stripes, the puckered flesh mildly discolored, pale pink against stark ivory. Sorrow and pain and lament overwhelmed him along with the hint of something else he refused to acknowledge.

“Oh…” Draco murmured as he recognized the subtext of Harry’s expression. “I knew this would be a problem. Harry, it’s okay. It was a long time ago – ”

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. The ugliest, most hateful thing, and I never even apologized for it, did I?” Harry’s features twisted into a panicked look as he realized this was true. “Oh god, I didn’t. I’m so, so sorry, Draco.”

“I know you are,” Draco softly affirmed. He laced his fingers with Harry’s.

“That’s another one of the reasons you wouldn’t move past kissing for a while, isn’t it?”

Draco’s eyes shifted like he didn’t want to have this conversation, but he answered anyway.

“Yes, but it’s not for the reason you think. I mean, obviously having to cobble together a fake story is an added complication when you’re trying to get off with someone you just met but…they feel private. Like they belong to you and me, and other people shouldn’t get the privilege of seeing them.” Draco gazed at Harry shyly, anxiously awaiting the reception of this admission.

Emboldened by Draco’s comments, Harry bit his lip and gave voice to the unexpected emotion that had accompanied the horror he felt when he saw the scars.

“Can I admit something a little deranged?”

“By all means.” Draco squeezed his hand where their fingers were joined.

“When I saw them, after the remorse I…even though I wish I’d never done this to you, even though the _way_ it happened is so awful I can barely think about it…” Draco patiently waited for Harry to gather his thoughts, “I think you wear them so well. They don’t detract from how incredibly beautiful you are. They’re distinguished and exquisite and…”

 _And I like seeing my mark on you like I branded you as mine before I even knew you were._ Harry didn’t dare say it. It sounded far too perverse, and he was at a loss for where it was coming from.

“Is that completely fucked up? Do you hate me for saying that?” Harry’s brow knit together as he timidly looked up at Draco from under his lashes.

“No, not at all. Fuck…we’re an unfathomably compatible type of twisted, aren’t we?” Draco smiled, and the affection Harry found there made the tension in his body uncoil, a ripple of relaxation wafting over his every muscle like a sip of Calming Draught. He loosened his grip on Draco’s hand. He didn’t realize he’d been holding on so tightly. “I hate the way I received them too, but I like _them_. Maybe it’s because I still bear Voldemort’s mark, this constant reminder of someone I despise who coerced me into committing deeds that tore me apart inside. It’s nice to have a mark from someone I…”

For a second, Harry thought Draco might utter a four letter word that would throw their relationship into tumult all over again. He didn’t think either of them were ready to say that to each other. Draco paused, taking a deep breath before proceeding.

“I liked how it made me feel connected to you, like this indelible thing you gave me, something you couldn’t deny or take away, like you…” Draco’s voice was quavering now, his breath speeding up.

“Like I claimed you as mine,” Harry breathed, suddenly alert to the growing bulge in his pants.

Draco nodded, eyes dreamily at half-mast.

“Do you ever touch them…when you…”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. “All the time.”

“Can I?” Harry unthreaded their fingers and hovered his hand a couple inches away from where the first scar began, just above Draco’s right pectoral.

“Please,” Draco begged, nodding emphatically. When Harry’s fingertips grazed the first inch of raised flesh, Draco gasped, trembling ever so slightly under the touch. Harry gently traced the length of the mark to where it ended halfway down Draco’s abdomen. The rhythm of Draco’s breathing became more erratic as he watched with rapt attention. Harry touched them with so much care, so much adoration. When he bent to press his lips to the first scar, Draco moaned and dug his fingers into Harry’s thigh. Harry was painfully hard now, his erection straining against the denim of his trousers as he reverently placed a layer of kisses to the mark, tongue darting out to lick at the long-healed wound, delighting in the way Draco arched up into his mouth to seek more, running his hands up Harry’s sides and back. Harry couldn’t recall a time in his life when he’d ever been this turned on and no longer cared how warped it might appear to anyone else. Draco was loving every second of it, and that was all that mattered. He pulled off as his tongue lapped at the last section of the crooked line. It was the first time he had seen Draco’s face since he started touching the scars, and it was beyond gratifying to see how wrecked he looked, his cheeks tinted pink, pupils blown wide, mouth slack, hair somehow a mess even though he had been sitting back this whole time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Draco whined, “Bedroom. Now.”

Harry gave a jerky nod before removing himself from Draco’s lap and walking to the bedroom, turning around after a few paces, clumsily meeting Draco’s insistent mouth with his own as they staggered backwards, a jumble of tangled limbs. The back of Harry’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and they both tumbled onto it, Draco’s warmth enveloping him as their chests finally collided, smooth skin against smooth skin.

Draco slipped a hand between their bodies to unbutton Harry’s jeans. Harry struggled to do the same to him, impatient to get rid of all the clothing separating them but also unwilling to lose contact for more than a couple seconds. They managed to pry themselves apart long enough for Draco to pull Harry’s jeans and pants off in one swift motion. Harry followed suit with shaking fingers, enthralled by the sight of Draco’s hard cock bobbing free. Instead of resuming his position on top of Harry, Draco lay beside him, plucking Harry’s glasses off the bridge of his nose and neatly folding them closed before placing them on the nightstand. Harry rolled on his side until they were facing each other. Draco smiled sweetly, the heat dissipating for a moment as they slowed down, basking in the sight of one another’s bodies.

“I want you so fucking much, but I don’t want it to be over too quickly,” Harry whispered, hand migrating from Draco’s flank to the alluring curve of his arse. Draco wedged his knee between Harry’s legs and ran his palm down his stomach, fingers just a whisper away from his cock.

“We have all night, Harry, and I plan on making you come so many times you beg me to leave you the fuck alone so you can get some sleep.” Draco’s eyes darkened with lust, and he pulled Harry closer until their cocks slid together, both of them gasping from the glorious friction. Draco’s fingers finally wrapped around Harry’s cock, stroking slowly, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head, testing the weight of it in his hands, not in any rush. Harry watched, fascinated and thrilled by the image of Draco’s hand tightly holding him. Not only was another man finally touching his cock, but _Draco Malfoy_ was the man to hold this special place in the evolution of Harry’s sexuality and it was so subversive and yet so fitting that after all this time, it would be him.

Draco had always challenged him, often in ways both of them would rather forget, but here he was, pushing Harry out of his comfort zone again. Maybe it wasn’t that Draco’s core qualities had always been undesirable. Maybe it was only that he had wielded them in the worst of ways, used them in ugly contexts and petty disputes, but not anymore. Now the pushes felt empowering, the taunts felt playful, and the smirks stirred the deep well of desire low in Harry’s belly. Embracing the impulse to return to Malfoy everything he was giving, Harry encased Draco’s cock within his fist and gave it a tentative tug. It was longer and a bit thinner than his own, and he couldn’t get over the way they looked laying so close together, the heads occasionally brushing against each other, the backs of their knuckles bumping as they stroked each other.

“Anything,” the next word was swallowed by Draco’s moan as Harry twisted his wrist on the upstroke, his grip tightening and pace quickening, exhilarated by all the glorious sounds Draco was making, “a-anything you want? This being your first – _ah_ – time and all.”

“God, I don’t know…everything,” Harry choked out. “I want everything from you.”

“Mmm my choice then?” Draco licked his lips, and Harry thought that sensual drawl of his would fucking kill him before the night was over.

“Yes, anything you want.”

“I want to suck you off. Is that okay?”

Harry thought he nodded, but he was so delirious from the mere thought of Draco wanting to do that to him, he felt a little out-of-body. When Draco tenderly turned Harry onto his back and began to sink down between his legs, Harry concluded that he hadn’t imagined it. Draco arranged Harry’s legs over his shoulders and kissed his inner thighs, running his tongue along the crease where leg met groin. His eyes were closed and he looked blissful, as though he was the one being kissed and licked. Harry hadn’t expected Malfoy to be such a careful, attentive lover, but he was. _Oh_ , he really, really was. Harry’s back bowed off the bed as Draco’s tongue made its way down to Harry’s balls, laving over them before gently sucking each one into his mouth. He kissed around the base of Harry’s shaft before moving up to suck on the head, lapping at the precome that had gathered there. Harry bunched the sheets in his fists.

“ _Fuck_ , Draco.” Harry was on the verge of liquefying into a puddle on the bed, and Draco had only just begun.

“I’ll be taking my time with this. I hope you don’t mind,” Draco said with a confident smirk, hand sliding up and down Harry’s shaft.

“You might kill me, but I’m sure it will be a really epic death,” Harry laughed.

Draco’s smile widened, and then he swallowed Harry down about halfway, warm wetness surrounding Harry’s cock. He moaned, his knees involuntarily clamping around Draco’s neck. Draco chuckled and lightly pushed them apart as he continued sucking, the flat of his tongue pressed against the underside of Harry’s cock. He made a pleased hum around his mouthful, and Harry snapped his head up to watch. Draco looked right at him, and Harry thought he might break from the intensity of that gaze. He groped for Draco’s hand, slotting their fingers together, and kept his eyes trained on the perfect blond lying between his legs. Draco closed his eyes as he took Harry down to the root, the head of his cock nudging at the back of Draco’s throat, and that was all it took. Harry came down Draco’s throat, panting and whining his name, squeezing his hand so tightly he feared he might have hurt him.

Draco kissed his way up Harry’s body, looking quite conceited as he draped his arm around Harry’s waist.

“Bloody hell…” Harry threw his hand over his eyes, endorphins flowing as he gradually came down from the incredible orgasm Malfoy has just given him. He dropped his hand, eyes wide as something occurred to him. “ _Oh_ , I should have warned you. I wasn’t…fuck, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Not thinking is sort of the point, but don’t worry about it. I _wanted_ to taste you,” Draco murmured in his ear. Harry moaned softly and realized he wanted that too.

“Will you get on your back for me?”

Draco’s eyebrows raised like he hadn’t expected Harry to be that bold.

“Gladly, Potter.”

Harry maneuvered himself between Draco’s legs. Draco bent his knees, feet planted on the bed. Harry didn’t sling his legs over his shoulders as Draco had but he did cradle his thighs, rubbing the milky skin as he considered what to do next.

“Remember, no thinking," Draco whispered as he combed his fingers through Harry's thick nest of hair, sensing his hesitancy.

Harry nodded and kissed the delicate skin of Draco's inner thighs, inhaling the musky, almost cloying scent of him as he nosed in the wispy blond hair surrounding his cock. He licked one long stripe up the underside, and Draco's hand tightened in his hair as he let out a breathy moan. Gripping the base of his cock, he licked at the head in quick, short motions of the tip of his tongue, sighing when he tasted the salty liquid pooled there. Opening his mouth wider, he swallowed a couple inches of his length, memorizing every texture of his cock, the slippery-smooth skin moistened by his own tongue, the hard ridge of the vein on the underside. Draco was very tactile as Harry leisurely explored him, rubbing his arms and shoulders, cupping his cheek, stroking his fingers down Harry's neck to feel the muscles working. Harry began to bob up and down, trying to take as much of Draco into his mouth as he could manage, blushing when he heard Draco moan his name, his lithe thighs and taut stomach tensing. It was more difficult than he had imagined, the stretch of his jaw aching as he sucked, but it was a dull throb he didn’t mind, a welcome reminder that this was really happening. Harry pulled off for a second and reveled in the adoration he saw in Draco's eyes.

"Okay so far?"

"You have no idea how much. Come up here," Draco breathlessly commanded, tugging at Harry's arms to urge him up the bed. Harry covered Draco's body with his own, enjoying the sensation of being chest to chest once again, their mouths slotting together in a passionate kiss. "Do you know how fucking good you looked with my cock in your mouth?"

"Stop." Harry hid his face in Draco's neck when he felt his cheeks redden.

"I've decided it's my mission to make you blush as often as possible. You're irresistible like this."

"Your dirty talk is going to be the end of me, I swear." Harry grinded his hips down, his cock fighting to get hard again just from the sound of Draco's lurid voice.

"Mmm, that's the plan. Now, remind me again how good my cock looks in your hand?" Draco murmured, tongue tracing the edge of Harry's ear, impatiently thrusting up against him. 

Obediently, Harry rolled off him until he was curled around Draco's side. He reached down to grip his cock, giving it a firm squeeze before settling into a steady rhythm. Being this close to Draco and watching him come undone was mesmerizing and almost unbearably intimate. The pink of his cheeks, the warmth of his breath ghosting across Harry's lips, the way his eyelids flitted open and closed, the way his hands roved over Harry's body, fingers digging into his chest and arms, how he moaned and cursed when Harry sped up the pace, Harry catalogued every nuance to replay in his mind later. When Harry saw the signs that Draco's orgasm was cresting, the erratic panting, his back arching off the bed, the grip of his fingers moving from strong to nearly bruising, he looked down at their sweat-soaked bodies, eager to watch him come. Draco moaned his name and spilled on his stomach and over Harry's hand, and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen anything more perfect. He groaned as he watched the pulsing of Draco's hard cock, coaxing every last drop out of him with the squeeze of his palm.

Draco sighed and threw his head back on the pillow, catching his breath as his golden hair fanned out around his flushed, sweat-sheened face. Harry did a wandless cleaning charm, and Draco squinted as he felt the tingle skid across his skin and saw the puddle disappear.

"How did you...you are beyond amazing, Harry Potter." Draco gave him a euphoric smile.

"I've gotten pretty good at a few wandless spells. I can teach you if you want." Harry ran a fingertip over the now pristine patch of skin. Harry expected another snide remark about how Draco didn’t need his guidance, but Draco was far too content to be caustic. He only nodded absently.

“How do you feel?” Draco propped up on an elbow, leaning his head in his palm and watching Harry for any signs of post-coital regret.

“Good. Really fantastically good,” Harry assured him. “You?”

“ _Marvelous_. Glad to know that part works with us.” Draco raised a flirty eyebrow and lightly tickled Harry’s ribs.

They quietly lay next to each for a few minutes before Draco started laughing.

“That laughter better not be directed at me and anything I did in the last hour.” Harry narrowed his eyes in playful scorn.

“No, it’s just fucking ludicrous is all.”

“Us?”

“Yes. I’m naked in Harry Potter’s bed because we just had sex. It’s an absolutely _sublime_ type of insanity, but it’s still insane.”

“Did we?”

“Did we what?” Draco tilted his head, trying to ascertain what Harry was on about.

“I mean… _did_ we have sex?” Harry asked softly, embarrassment evident in his tone and the way his neck was breaking out in red splotches.

“Potter, I know you’ve fallen on your head and been at death’s door more than a few times over the years, but if your short term memory is truly that dreadful, you may consider seeing a neurologist.”

Harry groaned and grabbed the comforter from where it was shoved at the foot of the bed. He pulled it upward until he was covered from head to toe.

Draco was baffled, but as he replayed Harry’s words in his head, revelation took hold.

“Oooohhh, I think I see what’s happening here. Come out from under there, Harry.”

“No.”

“Please?” Draco tried to keep the amusement out of his voice so as not to make Harry feel patronized.

“You said you wouldn’t make me feel like shit about my lack of experience!”

“I won’t! I just didn’t understand what you were asking at first.” Draco tugged at the blanket, but Harry held fast. “Potter, come on. Look at me.”

Harry sighed and slowly uncovered his head but kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“You’re confused about what needs to happen in order for you to be certain you’ve lost your gay virginity, correct?” Draco sounded so thoughtful, such a far cry from how he used to sound when addressing any weaknesses he perceived Harry to have. Harry relaxed a bit and met Draco’s eyes.

“Yeah. It’s less of a clear line, you know? With girls, you _know_. You’re told repeatedly what the line is.”

Draco laughed, but it was a sympathetic sound, no mocking to be found in the timbre of it.

“You’re absolutely right, it is. Because it’s unfairly considered the _default._ Being queer is always the deviation so naturally you’re not going to hear about in school or from your families most of the time and definitely not in detail. The attitude is very ‘we won’t address it until it happens’ which is some damaging shit. If you’re a queer kid, you don’t want the first time you hear about the possibility to be when you’re sixteen and already in the middle of a full-blown identity crisis.” Draco sounded like he was speaking from experience, and Harry wondered how alone and trapped Draco must have felt grappling with his sexuality in the midst of a war and family issues that surpassed the hardships people could ever imagine.

“You sound like you have it all figured out.” _And I didn’t realize how much I DON’T until I started talking to you about it._

“Trust that I really, really don’t. I don’t think anyone ever fully does. I have a much better concept of myself and my identity than I used to, but I’ve been thinking about it longer than you have. I also have a friend group comprised of basically all people who fall under one letter or another on the acronym so that helps. But getting back to your question, forget about clear lines. It’s kind of freeing and wonderful not to have them, you know? You get to determine what your experience means instead of letting someone else do it for you. If you feel devirginized, then you are. It’s not about some arbitrary metric based on what holes were penetrated.” Draco slipped his hand under the comforter and ran his hand down Harry’s chest. “And if you _don’t_ feel sufficiently debauched, I plan on expanding your repertoire as much as possible so don’t despair just yet.”

Harry smiled and kissed him.

“Thanks for talking me through all this.”

“Anytime.” Draco lifted the comforter and wriggled inside, leaning his head against Harry’s shoulder.

Feeling less shy about the subject, Harry decided to ask more.

“So…in regards to expanding my repertoire, do you have a preference for how you like to…” Harry trailed off, not quite bold enough to phrase it in more detail.

“How I like to fuck?” Draco bluntly finished for him.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, “I guess that’s what I’m asking.”

“Depends on who I’m with and what I’m after at the time. From a pleasure standpoint, I am a greedy bottom most of the time. I figure if I have the choice between something surrounding my cock or having my prostate _and_ my cock attended to, it would be a pity not to choose the latter. That said, not everyone is gentle or trustworthy or knows proper prep so I won’t always opt for that, especially if I don’t know them that well.” Draco leaned back enough to look at Harry. “As for what I want with _you,_ I want to fuck you and be fucked _by_ you in every possible combination we can drum up in our perverted minds. I will accept nothing less.”

“With you constantly saying things like that, it’s no wonder the celibacy pact didn’t even last a day.” Harry squirmed as his cock stirred to attention once again. “I’m _choosing_ to believe that’s a perfectly valid excuse anyway.”

Draco smirked, his hand descending until it connected with Harry’s half-hard cock.

“I should make good on my promises then, shouldn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how my Draco ended up being this woke guy guiding Harry through defining his own queerness, but I'm pretty cool with it happening. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a huge amount of development here, BUT if I'd incorporated the next part into this chapter, it would have ended up too long/not flowed very well. So I hope you enjoy the banter and the bickering! I have some stuff on the horizon for next time that I'm excited to get to. :) As always, comments and kudos give me life.

Draco spent the night again, waving it off defensively when Harry made a crack about how attached he must already be.

“You obviously need your ego taken down a few notches. This is not me being _clingy_. It’s two in the morning, I have to be up at nine to open the store, you’re warm, and I’m lazy. Now cease your infernal yapping so I can get some sleep. Will you wake me up if I curse at my alarm and burrow into the bed?”

“What am I, your house elf? If you ignore your alarms, that’s hardly my problem.”

“Worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends,” Draco muttered, nuzzling against Harry’s chest all the same.

Despite his assertion that Draco needed to get up on his own like an adult, Harry nudged him awake after he turned off his third alarm and grumbled about hexing all Muggle technology.

“But do I really _need_ a job? Isn’t money a social construct anyway?” Draco rationalized, tightening his hold on Harry’s waist.

“Now’s not the time for a philosophy lesson, Draco. You love that store, you love schooling the hipster assholes who test your music knowledge, and you love Oliver. Time to get up.” Harry kissed the top of his head, and tried to extricate himself from Draco’s tenacious grip. Draco rolled away in the other direction.

“Ugh, fine. I don’t know why Oliver insists on being open on Sundays, and for only five bloody hours no less. Just be clloosseedd,” Draco whined, reluctantly leaving the comfort of Harry’s bed and plucking his phone from the nightstand. “Fuck! It’s 9:30?! I have to be there by ten, and I can’t wear two day old clothes.”

“Well, maybe if you’d gotten up after your first or even your _second_ alarm, you wouldn’t be having this problem.” Harry laughed and stretched his arms behind his head as he watched a panicked and mostly nude Draco pacing the bedroom.

“Stop gloating!”

“Look, why don’t you just wear something of mine?”

Draco’s scowl could have melted steel.

“Oh, come on! What’s so awful about my clothes?”

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that right now?”

Harry rolled his eyes and propped up on his elbows.

“Want me to side-along you to your place?”

Harry hadn’t asked any more details about the extent of Draco’s avowal to swear off most magic, but he assumed apparation was probably among the magical tasks he had been avoiding since it was rather advanced and risky. Maybe offering to do it _for_ him was cheating, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to be there on time.

Draco looked doubtful for a second but nodded.

“Yeah…if you don’t mind.”

They both got dressed, Harry throwing on whatever was conveniently located by the bed and Draco putting on the clothes he hadn’t found much need for in the past twenty four hours. He took hold of Harry’s bent arm and with a thunderous crack, they were in Draco’s living room.

Draco bent at the waist, clutching his stomach and grimacing as they separated.

“Are you alright?” Harry rubbed Draco’s back.

“Yeah…haven’t done that in a while. I forgot how nauseous I get.” He stood back up and shook it off, swearing as he checked the time.

Harry tried not to make any jokes at Draco’s expense as he dashed around the apartment, tearing into his closet with all the finesse of a rabid animal, clothes flying behind him as he selected whatever he deemed suitable, bouncing on one leg as he shoved the other into clean trousers. There was something undeniably endearing about seeing Draco Malfoy scrambling to get ready for the Muggle job he was most assuredly going to be late to.  

“Time?!” Draco practically barked as Harry sat on the edge of the bed watching him throw a striped cardigan over a Ride t-shirt.

“9:45, you maniac.”

“Goddamnit! Okay okay, I’m ready. Are you apparating back or…?” Draco cocked an eyebrow as he shimmied into a jacket.

“No, I’ll just walk back. I grabbed my keys before we left.” Harry stood up, and his chest ached a little as he watched Draco preparing to leave. It was hard to know how typical the last couple days were or weren’t for Draco in relationship mode. It wouldn’t have surprised Harry to learn he was someone who required a lot of space and alone time. Needy as it made him feel, Harry couldn’t help but conjecture about how soon he would see him after this.

“Okay, well…I’ll talk to you later then?” Draco’s smile was a little ambiguous, and Harry wondered if he was experiencing a similar train of speculative thought.

“Definitely.” They both stood awkwardly, neither making a move to leave. “I guess I should…”

Harry gestured absently toward the bedroom door and started to walk away. Draco caught him by the wrist.

“Wait.”

Harry turned around, and Draco closed the distance between them, holding Harry’s face between his hands and kissing him ardently, tongue winding with Harry’s as he backed him against the bedroom door. Harry moaned into his mouth and wrapped his arms around Draco’s slim waist.

“You’re going to be late,” Harry whispered between kisses.

“Worth it. The losers who have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning can wait.”

Harry smiled against Draco’s lips as he kissed him again. Draco broke the kiss with a reluctant sigh and stepped back.

“Okay…fuck, I really do have to go.”

“Right, see you later.”

Half an hour later, Harry was back in his own apartment, happily sprawled out on sheets that still smelled of Draco.

 

***

 

_Harry: So it appears Draco Malfoy is now my boyfriend in an official capacity. Just thought you should know…_

_Ron: Perfect timing because I’m flat broke. Selling this story to the Prophet could be my meal ticket, mate._

_Hermione: Ron, could you BE anymore gauche?!_

_Ron: Just having a laugh, Hermione! No need to release the hounds. I’m glad the bastard came to his senses, Harry. I think…_

_Hermione: Same, but do let him know that if he plays fast and loose with your heart again I WILL end him._

_Harry: Will do. :) Or you can tell him yourself, if you like. I’m sure we’ll end up around each other soon enough._

Neither of them responded, and Harry tried to ignore his misgivings as he stared at the phone. He wasn’t sure if either of them would be willing to see Draco just yet, but he very badly wanted to clear the air. If he had tangible proof they could all be in the same room without anyone ending up needing medical attention, he would feel better about everything. Harry really just wanted to rip the band-aid off and be through with it instead of sitting around anticipating what potential disasters could befall them.

He noted the time, 12:45, and considered texting Draco. It was alright to see how his day was going, wasn’t it? It’s not like it was only ten minutes since they’d parted. A few hours had passed. That was enough, right?

_Get it together, Harry. Stop acting like you’re thirteen. Text him if you want to text him. Don’t overthink it._

_H: Were the hipsters waiting at the door with copies of Paste and nitro tap iced coffees in hand?_

_D: Ha! No, there’s been like…three people in all day. I reiterate that we should be closed on Sundays!_

Harry grinned like a lovesick fool. What to type next… _My bed feels empty without you_ sounded far too syrupy and romantic, even if it was true.

_H: My apartment is really quiet without someone screeching “you were sent from the depths of hell to ruin me” at their phone alarm._

_D: Ha fucking ha. I’m sure I’ll be there to fill your bedroom with obscenities directed at inanimate objects soon enough._

_D: Do you miss me, Potter?_

_D: Fuck, that looks way too sentimental in text form…picture me saying it in my snarkiest tone with an artfully arched brow. Emphasis on the POTTER like the old days._

_H: Done. It’s almost like you never left. :) Funny how that sort of thing used to make me want to slap you, but now it’s super hot._

_D: Who says those things have to be mutually exclusive? ;)_

_H: Oh rreealllyy? We’ll have to fully analyze that comment next time we’re alone…_

_H: And I do miss you._

_D: Good. You better, Potter._

_D: I’m a bit knackered, and I promised Ruby I’d hang out with her tonight. But if you’re not busy tomorrow, would you like to do something?_

_D: Or is that too soon? I’m not really good at…stuff._

_H: Stuff? You have such a way with words, Draco. :P_

_D: And you’re rude, Potter._

_H: Well, being the master of rudeness, I guess you would know. And I don’t know? I honestly wanted to ask you the same thing. It’s not like I ever had much chance to date in a “normal” way, you know? I don’t know the rules…_

_D: Eh, I say fuck the rules. If we feel like seeing each other a lot, then let’s see each other a lot. If we don’t, we don’t. How’s that?_

_H: Splendid idea._

_D: “Splendid”? How old are you? Are you wearing a jacket with elbow patches and smoking out of a pipe with a first edition Victor Hugo in your hand? Sitting in one of those studies with a spinning globe and a lot of bookshelves?_

_H: You know maybe tomorrow IS too soon…_

_D: Hey, for all you know I have an “old English professor” kink! It’s very hard to determine tone in a text!_

_H: You can’t see it right now, but I’m making a very stern face._

_D: Aw, I’m sorry. You’ll forget how mad you are when I suck your cock again._

_H: Damn it, Draco…_

_D: *bows*_

_H: See you tomorrow :)_

_D: Wear the elbow patches ;)_

***

 

They spent a lot of time together over the next few weeks, November fading into December and the smell of Christmas seemingly everywhere overnight, like the air was infused with hot cider and cinnamon. Ruby was beyond ecstatic that they had worked past their baggage enough to make it official, and Harry was happy to have her back in his life. Draco was much more open about inducting Harry into his circle of friends this time around, and Harry’s whole body flooded with joy every time Draco held his hand or kissed him in front of them. Those subtle reminders that Draco was committed to this and hadn’t made the decision on a whim, that he didn’t think of Harry as a shameful secret or a careless regret, meant absolutely everything. The elements of hormones, the desire to make up for lost time, and the addictive excitement of a new relationship all swirled together into an insatiable need for sex, but they eventually wrenched themselves away from bed long enough to start going on actual dates beyond the confines of their neighborhood.

Hermione and Ron were cordial every time Harry spoke of what was new with Draco, but still neither of them made the offer to arrange a meeting of any kind. No lunch invitations, no tea time suggestions, nothing. If Harry broached the subject, they would always seem to conveniently have Hogwarts and Auror training obligations that conflicted with the proposed time. Since that conversation usually funneled directly into Hermione pestering Harry about what he was going to do with the rest of his life, it didn’t take long for Harry to stop asking altogether. Going to Draco for advice about this dilemma only yielded an unhelpful response: “Personally, I’d rather procrastinate about this as long as you let me. I’m not a paragon of healthy adult decision making, Potter. Don’t ask me.”  

Finally, the universe intervened on Harry’s behalf and rescued him from the burden of deciding what do to.

“What time are they coming again?”

“One.”

“I guess I should get going then…” Draco made no move to get up, running his fingers up and down Harry’s ribs.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Harry massaged Draco’s shoulders, and his boyfriend sighed contentedly.

“No, thank you. I refuse to engage in passive aggression before coffee.”

“That’s the furthest thing from the truth, and you know it.”

“Look,” Draco pulled back and speared Harry with obstinate eyes, “if they won’t _willingly_ have a discussion about the mere possibility, how well do you think it’s going to go if we’re just like ‘surprise! Here’s Draco Malfoy! Who’s ready for an impromptu hardcore therapy session? I know you were expecting tea and biscuits, but isn’t this so much better? Let us all reminisce about the last time this happened!’”

“Maybe that’s what we all need though. To be held hostage. No escape route.” Harry laughed, but he was half serious.

Draco picked up his phone from the nightstand and checked the time, rising from the warm bed to get dressed.

“It’s 12:30. I’m cutting it dangerously close. So are you, honestly. You might want to get up and straighten out that magpie’s nest you call hair before you receive guests.” Draco zipped his pants and slipped his long arms into the sleeves of a black coat, flashing Harry a sardonic grin.

“Before I ‘receive guests’? If you want me to stop making Miss Havisham jokes, you really have to watch your phrasing.” Harry sat up and watched Draco finger-comb his hair, longing to tug him back to bed and cancel his plans, but it was far too late to do that. Not to mention the fact that the wrath of an anal retentive Hermione was unmatched. One had to have a very good excuse for cancelling last minute and upsetting the balance of her immaculately planned schedule.

Draco froze as he heard the knock on the door.

“No.” He glared at Harry as though he was responsible for their early arrival. “NO.”

“Hermione’s a bit obnoxiously punctual. And by that I mean perpetually early.”

“Half an hour though?! I always knew she was a sixty year old woman trapped in a teenager’s body, but fucking hell! Who _does_ that?”

“Relax. It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.” Harry couldn’t contain his laughter, and Draco’s scowl intensified.

“You’re enjoying this, you sadist,” He accused. “Yeah, I’ve seen them before, but I haven’t seen them as your boyfriend yet, now have I?”

Harry’s heart beat faster as he recognized the source of Draco’s apprehension. He _cared_ about making a good impression. Underneath all his usual flippancy, what Hermione and Ron thought of him was important because they were important to Harry.

“It’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. I will gladly lie for you and say you need to get to work or something.” Harry smiled tenderly and walked toward him, resting a hand on his bicep.

“I’ll just gauge the looks of pure terror and disgust on their faces and act accordingly.” Draco rolled his eyes and huffed a frustrated breath.

“They won’t – ” Harry’s phone dinged before he could finish that sentence. “I better answer the door.”

“I swear I made my best effort to be late, but you know how impossible that is,” were the first repentant words out of Hermione’s mouth when Harry opened the door.

“I’ve accepted it at this point, honestly.” Harry smiled and ushered them both in.

“Mate, I think the whole world’ll explode the day she’s late for anything. Oh! Hi, Malfoy.” Ron started a bit but didn’t skip a beat as he greeted him. Harry thought it was admirable, particularly considering the way Hermione went white as a sheet. Her face was expressive to an extent that made concealing reactions a difficult task, although she’d never had much interest in hiding them anyway.

“Sorry. I meant to leave earlier, but I’m afraid I’m the opposite of you,” Draco waved in Hermione’s direction with a weak smile, “I tend to sort of lounge about until the last possible minute and get ready in a flurry of panic.”

“It’s rather terrifying to witness actually. He nearly took his own eye out with a coat hanger getting ready for work last week.” Harry laughed, trying to dispel the tension. He was relieved to see that everyone joined in. Granted, it all fell deathly silent a moment later, but it felt like marginal progress.

“Right, well…” Draco swept a hand through his blond locks and nervously glanced from Hermione to Ron and then back to Harry. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Draco shoved his hands in his coat pockets and turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Hermione abruptly spoke. Everyone looked a little taken aback, herself included. “Why don’t you just stay? Seeing you now, I feel a bit…childish that we’ve been avoiding it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over to Harry who tried his best to telepathically communicate _it’s up to you._

“Um…okay. I mean, if you’re sure?” Draco glanced at Hermione almost timidly, the tight corners of his mouth softening.

“Yes,” Hermione affirmed quietly and then more definitively, “Yes. I’m sure. Please stay.”

Everyone sat down. Harry realized with dismay that the three of them had chosen the couch and left Draco alone in the armchair, Harry seated on the cushion closest to him. He hoped Draco wasn’t reading too much into the inadvertently pointed positioning. No one removed their coats, eyes fixed on the floor, the wall, anywhere but each other. Harry felt like screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Well…this is nice, innit? Not awkward at all. We’re all clearly making our best efforts to hold a conversation. Of course, we’re not actually using any _words_ , but who needs those, right?” Ron shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Malfoy. “People talk in lots of other ways. Like through glances or head nods or…we’re not really doin’ any of that either, are we? But no one’s ended up in St. Mungo’s yet, so I call this a win.”

Draco surprised Harry by laughing and smiling back at Ron. Harry exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

“Hey, I made you laugh a little! That’s a start, right?” Ron nudged Hermione’s shoulder and waved in Draco’s direction.

Hermione gave Ron a terse, pained smile. Just as Harry was about to suggest he make some tea, Draco spoke up.

“How about this? Let’s skip the small talk and jump into the fray. Hermione, I’m sure you have some choice words for me, and being the intellectual you are, I’m betting they’re quite articulate and semantically precise. It would be a pity to waste them, and I think it might you feel better. Besides, it’s not like I don’t deserve them. Or if you like, you could try out that right hook on my nose again. It was pretty formidable if I recall.”

Harry hoped the levity in Draco’s reference would break Hermione’s stern countenance, and while it was the minutest of changes, he was thankful to see the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought a grin.

“It _was_ a very good punch,” She agreed, her lips finally spreading out into a small but unmistakable smile. “I don’t know, Draco…sometimes it seems…” Hermione sighed and slipped out of her jacket, reclining more comfortably on the sofa. “Too late to scold you for it. It’s like the past two years have amounted to a decade in light of everything that happened. I don’t want to be holding onto the way it felt to be relentlessly called a mudblood for years, but then…it’s also inextricably linked to everything, isn’t it? So much of the war was about that very concept.”

“You’re allowed to hold onto it. It’s awful. It’s disgusting. It’s unforgivable. It’s…I don’t even think I could make my tongue form the word now. I don’t know how I ever _did_ much less so fucking casually like it didn’t mean _everything_ it did. I’m full of regret about that. I’m _so_ sorry. I need you to know that even if it isn’t enough.” Draco was so self-possessed, earnest eyes not moving from Hermione’s, and Harry’s breath caught in his chest. He knew this couldn’t be easy for him, but Draco was making it look effortless. There was no sputtering, no second guessing. He was resolutely ready for this. All the doubts of a few minutes ago had vanished and left behind someone enviably poised. Harry wondered how many times Draco had practiced this conversation in his head, envisioned the way he would atone and how it would be received. “I don’t know what else to say other than…when something is so _deeply_ ingrained in you for as long as you can remember by the people who are supposed to care for you and love you, the people you’re supposed to be able to trust and learn from and rely on the most for guidance in the world, you don’t question it. Then you get older, and the cracks in the facade start showing themselves for the absolute _chasms_ in logic and reason that they are, and it’s like…”

He thoughtfully chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes frosted with a faraway tint for a moment before he continued.

“It’s like waking up for the first time. Like you’ve been in a coma for the better part of two decades, and you’ve finally been revived, waking with a gasp on a hospital bed like you’ve never tasted air before, like it _burns_ your lungs just to let it in but it also feels like the most refreshing glass of cold water you’ve ever put to your lips. This isn’t meant to be an excuse. It doesn’t pardon me for anything I’ve done. I just want to give some modicum of explanation for how it happened.”

Draco swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and patiently waited for Hermione to respond.

“Thank you. That means a lot to hear. I understand what you’re saying. I’ve actually thought a lot recently about how you didn’t have as much of a choice as I thought or…as I _wanted_ to think you did. The truth is, as much as I would like to believe I’m not capable of making the mistakes you did…I don’t think anyone can really know what they’d do in that situation. That goes for any of us.” Hermione looked around the room at Ron and Harry. “We don’t know what we’d be like if we were raised like you. Adding in the threat of Bellatrix or Voldemort ending your life…well, it can’t have been an easy environment to escape. I didn’t want to admit that for a long time, but I sympathize more than I used to.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but I don’t know if it’s true. I _did_ have a choice. Their influence was only half of it. I certainly did a bang-up job of hurrying it along the rest of the way.” Draco’s voice turned dark, his eyes stormy with guilt and unwanted flashbacks to worse times.

“Perhaps you did, but I’ve started to understand more about how you got there.”

“Thank you. I don’t know if I deserve that from you,” Draco muttered, twisting the buttons of his coat and looking at the floor.

“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t, but I don’t like holding grudges. It’s not healthy, and anyway, I think it’d be much nicer if we could move on and get to know each other on new terms, don’t you? Although it is my duty to inform you that if you’re careless with this one’s heart,” Hermione nodded in Harry’s direction, “I _will_ be revisiting the ferocity of my right hook, is that clear?”

“Crystal. I…he’s not casual to me, you know?” Draco’s cheeks went pink as he said it. Harry made a mental note to shower him with affection of every damn kind after they left.

“About that…” Ron piped in. He had been watching the exchange between Draco and Hermione while balanced on the edge of the couch, eyes nervously darting between the two of them as though waiting to clean up the carnage from what was sure to be a volcanic eruption. Now that grievances had been aired and resolutions reached, he removed his jacket and relaxed into the couch. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” Draco nodded encouragingly.

“How long have you fancied Harry? Looking back on everything, it sort of starts to seem like your obsession with him was less about torturing him and more about some kind of closeted like…fuck, Hermione would know how to say this better than me – ” Ron scrunched up his face as he fought to articulate his thoughts.

“Like I was doing the ‘look at me, I’m a tough archetype of masculinity and most definitely not gay and vulnerable, nothing to see here’ dance?” Draco finished for him with a laugh.

“Yeah, basically.” Ron looked relieved that Malfoy wasn’t offended.

“Very astute of you, honestly. Um…I dodged Harry on this one before so I probably can’t get away with being evasive a second time. Fuck…” Draco exhaled slowly and leaned back, crossing his legs neatly at the ankle.

“You don’t have to say anything, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to pry. A lot of shit started adding up after you got together, you know? I couldn’t bloody _believe_ it at first, but then it started making all sorts of sense. And like…you didn’t really date anyone at Hogwarts, did you? I remember Pansy crushing on you, but you kind of always brushed her off.”

“Yeeaahh, I think my total lack of interest in her when she’d throw herself at me cemented how incredibly fucking gay I was. I really, really wasn’t ready to come out by then so I made sure my ignorance and deflection shields were running overtime, you know? When it comes to Harry, it was…fourth year if I’m being honest with myself which of course I _wasn’t_ at the time so,” Draco took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, “I would say sixth is when I knew for _sure_ , but it was such a confusing time. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why I wasn’t really afforded many opportunities to think about boys and sex that year. But I _did_ realize that I didn’t want Voldemort or anyone for that matter to hurt Harry. So I kind of had to examine why I felt so strongly about it, and then when they brought you all to the manor…I was so grateful you were disfigured so I could lie.”

Draco shot Harry a doleful look, and Harry reached over to grasp his hand. Draco squeezed his fingers. Harry hadn’t thought of that night in the context of Draco’s feelings for him, how much he must have been scared that Harry was going to die and how conflicted he must have been over watching it all unfold.

“I fantasized about grabbing all of you and running away honestly, but I didn’t know how to do that.”

“You probably couldn’t have. You might have died trying,” Harry said quietly, shifting on the edge of the couch until his knee touched Draco’s.

“That wouldn’t have stopped you though, would it?” Draco smiled fondly at Harry, and for a moment, they both forgot there was anyone else in the room.

“Wow,” Ron interrupted, his eyes remarkably wide. “Not gonna lie, that was _weird_ to witness.”

“What?” Harry shifted self-consciously, his cheeks heating up.

“You two lot looking at each other all moony like you’re about to make out.”

“Ron!” Hermione slapped his shoulder, and he winced.

“What?! I’m just saying it’s gonna take a bit of getting used to, is all! They used to always look they were about to punch each other not have a _snog_.”

“Why do I feel like this is only the beginning of a series of tedious comments from him?” Draco pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“Ah, I knew there was still a bit of the old Malfoy in there.” Ron chuckled.

“Like I told Harry, I’m a different sort of prat now, but I am absolutely still a sarcastic prat.”

“Is it weird to say that’s kind of a relief to hear? It was getting a bit bizarre with all that…emotion back there.”

“I could insult your clothes and your hair for old times’ sake, if you like?” Draco grinned wickedly.

“Well, when he found out we were dating, he _did_ say you’re pointy looking.” Harry chuckled as he added innocuous fuel to the fire.

“Pointy?! I suppose freckles and hair the color of a pumpkin constitutes the epitome of male attractiveness in your mind, Weasley?!” Draco crossed his arms and slanted his pale brows. Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes and shook their heads, sharing a look of _and these are the boys we chose_ as the two bickered across the room.

“You know, I promised myself I wasn’t gonna call you ferret face, but I’m rethinking that now!”

“Do we dare to go out for brunch and inflict this sideshow on the public?” Harry leaned in to ask Hermione just as Draco was reminding Ron about the dress robes his mother had sent him in full view of everyone in the dining hall fourth year. Ron countered with “at least I never cried to my daddy about an overgrown bird scratching my arm!”

“Perhaps we’d better order in, but not before we start filming this on our phones to leverage over their heads later.”

“You are far more devious than most people know, Hermione.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me last chapter: I should cap it off here or it will get too long.  
> Me this chapter: Oops, this is almost 10k. *shrugs*
> 
> I had some things/scenes I really wanted to get to/wanted to share as quickly as possible! So that's how this ended up long and chock full of fluff and angst and sex and all the things. Let me know what you think, please! :D

After Malfoy and Ron expended all of their energy volleying gibes back and forth, an odd kind of grudging respect settled between them. They started to act like squabbling brothers rather than enemies. Not friends exactly but _friendly_. No one was more astounded than Draco himself to find that Ron was actually capable of pulling sincere laughter from him. Sure, sometimes he was laughing _at_ him rather than with him, but it managed to be good-natured instead of laced with any of the old cruelty.

As they parted ways, no one was sure how to say their goodbyes. Hugging seemed way too familiar and shaking hands too formal. Ron settled for a firm pat on Draco’s shoulder, and Hermione gave him a cordial wave and smile. When Harry shut the door, they both let out an exhausted groan.

“That went rather well so why do I feel like I just ran a marathon?”

“Because it’s still a really strange situation? My face aches from trying to maintain a pleasant expression for two hours straight.” Draco collapsed into a heap on the couch, long legs draped over the arm.

“I can’t believe how much you told them. I wasn’t expecting you to even _answer_ Ron about all that.” Harry slid in beside him, and Draco lifted up so Harry could scoot over until Draco’s head rested in his lap.

“Please don’t remind me lest I start spiraling about how dangerous that information is in their hands.” Draco draped a slender forearm over his eyes, and Harry softly petted his hair. “If I were them, I’d mock me the whole way home.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’re not like that. You were wonderful. Ron might do a _little_ mocking, but I guarantee it won’t be about how honest you were.”

“I’m sure I’ll be surly again soon enough and erase all the goodwill I’ve built today anyway.”

“Why do you always do that?” Harry frowned and moved the arm Draco had slung over his eyes.

“Do what?” Draco blinked up at him, not registering Harry’s meaning.

“Act like you’re just waiting for a relapse. You’re always warning me about hypothetical bad behavior you’ve built up in your head. Stop anticipating that you’ll screw up. Worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet can’t be helpful.”

“You sound like a self-help book.” Draco smiled wryly and reached up to stroke Harry’s chest.

“I’m just trying to say – ”

“I know. It’s sweet. Naïve but sweet.”

Harry grumbled internally but didn’t bother to protest.

“I think I should go home for now.”

“Oh…” Harry’s hand froze on Draco’s shoulder.

“I just need to decompress. Today was…a lot.”

“You seemed so composed. I didn’t know you were overwhelmed,” Harry apologized.

“One of the few benefits to the Malfoy upbringing. I can excel at composure when I really want to. It’s like some kind of autopilot setting kicks in, all those lessons on control and how to carry myself. Doesn’t mean I’m not screaming on the inside though.” Draco folded his hands over his stomach and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry if it was too much at once,” Harry murmured, sweeping Malfoy’s hair back from his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad we got it over with, and it _did_ go way better than I thought it would. I need a little recovery time is all.” Draco stretched out his hand to squeeze Harry’s arm. “It’s not a reflection on you, I promise. Being that open is…it takes everything I have to fight the voice inside my head that tells me it’s wrong and weak to behave that way. The voice fades with time, I get better at telling it to fuck off, but it’s not like it disappears. Progress isn’t a straight line…or so I’m told.”

“Do you know how brave you are, Draco?” Harry smiled and kissed Draco’s palm.

“I’m really not.” Draco blushed and averted his eyes.

“I beg to differ, and I will hear no arguments on the subject.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied, tone low and seductive in a way that made Harry shiver. He sat up and gave Harry a gentle kiss. “I’ll be off now, but I expect plentiful rewards for my good behavior in the very near future. The naked kind.”

"I’m already plotting the ways. Speaking of which, how many times did you wank off to me in the Slytherin dorms? Fourth through sixth year is a _lot_ of wank time."

“Wow, it’s getting really late!” Draco jumped off the couch like it was on fire.

“Ten? Twenty? A hundred?”

“Can’t hear you over the sound of me leaving and never coming back!”

 

***

 

“So, all of our mutual friends being queerdos in one form or another – ”

“Queerdos?” Harry’s brow knit together as he sifted through the stack of used records Draco hadn’t put out for customers yet. Dating the clerk at a record store with good stock had its perks. Draco had taken to letting Harry have first crack at the used records before he cleaned and priced them. This meant he nabbed all the best, rarest ones before any aficionados could get their eager hands on them. Granted, he had trouble identifying which records qualified as such, and Draco immensely enjoyed lording his superior expertise over Harry’s head.

“Queer weirdos. Ruby’s portmanteau. I quite like it.” Draco grinned and leaned his elbows on the counter, putting his hand on a Catherine Wheel record that Harry had just flipped past. “You definitely want that one. A little more guitar driven than you usually like, but trust me. It’s great. Atmospheric and moody. Anyway, like I was saying, with all of us being queerdos, there’s no shortage of people with shitty families who aren’t the most accepting. Ruby has a huge party every year as like a pre-cursor to the holidays so those of us who are alone around this time of year or know that we’re about to embark on a really tense, obligatory family outing, can relax and have a holiday celebration with people we actually _like._ It’s on the eighteenth this year, a week before Christmas – ”

“A week from today? Why am I just now hearing about this?” Harry stopped sorting through the record bin and eyed Draco suspiciously. They hadn’t discussed Christmas plans, and Harry had no idea what the dating protocol was for the holidays. Except for Ginny, none of his relationships (which, let’s face it, was a generous term for most of his romantic entanglements) had been long enough for the issue to arise. And that was such a different situation since he’d been an honorary member of her family for years by then. Should they spend it together? Was it too soon to bring up that option? Would Draco think he was a soppy fool for asking? All the possibilities for mishaps made him dizzy. Maybe this party would allow him to evade the issue altogether.  

“Because Ruby is spontaneous and rarely plans anything more than a couple weeks in advance. I wasn’t _hiding_ it,” Draco said with a petulant eyeroll. “I didn’t know she was doing it again until yesterday.”

“Am I invited?”

“No, I’m telling you about it to ensure that you’ll go out of town that day. _Yes,_ I want you there, you oblivious git. Fairly certain Ruby likes you more than me at this point anyway.”

“Very true.”

“You’re the most inconsiderate person. I’ve no idea why I put up with you.”

“Same.”

“That’s not the only reason I brought it up though.”

“Oh?”

“I thought maybe you might want to invite Hermione and Ron? Or anyone else, really. She’s having it at the warehouse she used for the installations so there’s no shortage of space.”

“That’s really nice of you.” Harry smiled affectionately and leaned in to kiss his temple.

Draco shrugged like he was embarrassed at having been caught in the act of being thoughtful.

“They’re your friends, and now that we’ve broken the ice a bit, I figured why not?”

“What about Luna?”

“For the party? Sure.” Draco canted his head as he considered it. “Now that you mention it, I think Ruby would totally adore her. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Playing matchmaker, are we?” Draco raised a flirtatious eyebrow and pulled another record from the bunch. “You’re passing all the good ones! God, it’s like you know _nothing_. That’s The Jesus and fucking Mary Chain.”

Draco yanked it from the bin and put it on top of Harry’s growing stack of records to buy.

“I don’t know…I’ve never asked Luna if she likes girls, but I get the distinct feeling she’s the sort that doesn’t care what gender you are as long as she likes you. You _sure_ this band is any good?” Harry only posed the question to see how much steam would come out of Draco’s ears before he completely blew a gasket.

“Are they any – ” Draco threw up his hands and grunted. “That’s an original pressing of _Psychocandy_ , and I am two seconds from putting it on the shelf so someone who will appreciate it more can buy it!”

“I really love seeing how many new shades of angry red I can make you turn. I count three so far today.”

Draco shook his head but couldn’t suppress the smile that crept across his face.

 

***

 

Ruby had outdone herself once again. Several denominations and holidays were represented along with a special rainbow decorated corner of the warehouse. Lengths of silky blue, white, and silver fabrics were draped gracefully around the rafters, hanging down to make a billowing canopy. Mounds of fluffy fake snow were pillowed around trees that looked so real, Harry couldn’t venture a guess as to how Ruby had constructed them. The trees lined most of the perimeter with strings of white lights connecting them like radiant spiderwebs.

The Hanukkah display was Harry’s favorite. An enormous menorah had been assembled from found metal objects, a different light source was situated at the top of each branch of the candelabrum (a lightbox for photo negatives, a cluster of twinkle lights, a bulbous orb one might more typically find on a street light, etc.), and the whole sculpture was secured to the wall with blue metal garlands bearing ornamental dreidels. The Christmas section was full of wreaths and tinsel, a silver aluminum tree with a color wheel, and blinking strings of multi-colored lights. The open middle area of the party was lit by projections of moving holiday scenery, snowfalls and galloping reindeer whizzing across the floor in the semi-dim room. The air seemed to be teeming with glitter and spice and warmth.

Harry felt drunk on the brilliance of the visuals alone.

“Are you certain she’s not a witch?” Luna queried, outfitted in a flowy white dress with bell sleeves and a winding pattern of silver pom poms around the middle that made her resemble the aluminum tree on the other side of the room. Large, spiral earrings that looked a bit like a set of double helixes dangled from her petite ears, and she was wearing a homemade flower crown of white roses and jasmine.

“Pretty sure. She’s just bursting with creativity. I think you’ll get on quite well.” Harry beamed at Luna as she wiggled her leg under the mishmash of lights to watch her iridescent tights shimmer.

“I suspect we will. Very kind of you to think of it, Harry.” Luna smiled that spacy, dreamy smile of hers that was always pleasantly infectious.

“I have to agree with Luna. This is about the closest to magic I’ve seen in the Muggle world. It’s bloody brilliant.” Ron gaped at his surroundings, his arm secure around Hermione’s waist. She seemed to be enjoying herself as well, cheeks rosy from the cold and eyes bright and happy.

“You should have seen the way it looked in October. I can’t even follow how her brain works most of the time, but it’s pretty fascinating.”

“You’re here!” A skinny arm snaked around Harry’s waist from behind, and familiar lips kissed his chilly cheek. Harry spun around and smiled broadly. Draco’s cheeks were flushed from alcohol, his grey eyes shining like jewels under the vibrant lights.

“I am! And I see you’ve started celebrating already,” Harry laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Well, it _is_ Christmas or at least it _looks_ like Christmas threw up all over the damn place in here.” Draco raised his cup to point at a particularly cluttered corner of décor.

“It’s one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen. Good to see you again, Draco,” Luna greeted him in her mellifluous tone.

“I’m sure Ruby would love to tell you all about how she did this, Luna. She gets really excited to talk about how she pulls these things off. Lights up like a…Christmas tree. Eh?” Draco winked and pointed his thumb and index finger at Harry.

“Did you _seriously_ just make a dad joke and do finger guns at me? How many drinks have you had?” Harry teased. 

Draco ignored him, turning his attention to Hermione and Ron.

“Let’s get you some drinks, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Draco turned to Harry with a smile that bordered on goofy and looked entirely out of place on Draco’s posh features. “And _you_ I might need to parade around so David will shut the fuck up about his new fancy, exotic boyfriend. I have a childish need to best him and prove that _I_ have the prettiest boyfriend. Everyone says so.”

Draco stroked Harry’s cheek with the back of his hand, uttering the last couple sentences in a skin-crawlingly creepy sing-song.

“Draco, I may have to agree with Harry,” Hermione said with a chuckle and a click of her tongue. “Perhaps it’s water for you for the rest of the night.”

“It’s a reference! I’m not being weird. It’s from this shitty old horror movie he made me watch, _The Bad Seed_. This little girl keeps terrorizing everyone, going around wantonly murdering people and getting away with it despite being small enough that all they had to do was scoop her up and cart her off to reform school. It's an absurd plot.”

“It’s not actually a horror movie. It’s a documentary. The original title was _Draco Malfoy: the Early Years_.” Harry grinned impishly at his best friends, who all burst into peals of laughter.

Draco’s jaw dropped in faux outrage, clutching a hand to his chest like he couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you possess such a daunting capacity for wit, Harry! Forget it, I’m not parading you around at all. In fact, I’m going to pretend I don’t even know you. Consider yourself disowned.” Draco crossed his arms defiantly, one shapely eyebrow cocked in disapproval.

Harry leaned in, cupping his hand around Draco’s ear so the others couldn’t hear as he whispered, “Now you know that insults are basically foreplay for us so keep in mind that you have my full permission to shut me up with your cock pushing against the back of my throat later.”

Draco bit his lip, a barely audible squeak of frustration leaving his mouth.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Potter.” Malfoy grinned so lasciviously that Ron covered his eyes and shook his head.

“Mate, I didn’t even hear what you said, but somehow I still feel scarred for life.”

“Better get used to it, Ron. This is a sober Harry. You’re going to be confronted with much, much worse later on.” Draco raised his cup in a toast and took a hearty sip.

 

***

 

A few hours later, the party was in full swing, and Harry couldn’t have been more elated. He was surrounded by friends and a boyfriend he adored, his head was buzzing with a most excellent balance of alcohol-induced endorphins, and everyone was getting along famously. Even Hermione was loosening up, drunker than Harry thought he’d ever seen her (thanks to Ruby’s potent concoctions) although still very much in control. Harry wasn’t sure it was possible to totally strip her of that.

Ron and Draco were in hysterics as they plotted a book series based on Harry’s life that they were insistent would make Harry a tidy sum.

“Just think about it though! Children’s books all about the near death experiences you had on a regular basis. Inspirational tales of overcoming strife and the constant threat of your demise. Children everywhere will know they too can triumph in the face of adversity. Harry Potter and the Time He Almost Died.” Draco dramatically waved his hand in the air as though conjuring up the title in a lit-up marquee. “Harry Potter and the Other Time He Almost Died: This Time it was a Really Big Snake.”

Draco snickered, and Ron doubled over, bracing a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Those are the worst, least inventive titles I’ve ever fucking heard!” Harry shouted, pinching Draco’s hip.

“Oh, I’ve got one! Harry Potter and the Time His Gay Closeted Enemy Waited for Him in a Tree All Day Just to Get His Attention.” Ron threw his head back in laughter, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes now. Draco playfully punched his shoulder.

“Hey! It was not ALL day. It was just like…a couple hours.” Draco put his head in his hands and groaned. “Fuck, I was obsessed, wasn’t it? It was totally pathetic and stalkery and gross, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, it’s kind of sweet now!” Ron exclaimed. “Something you and Harry can tell your grandchildren.”

Ron jolted upright from where he had been leaning in the center of the red velvet couch.

“WE CAN PUT IT IN THE BOOKS! Everyone loves an opposites-attract romance! It’ll fly off the shelves!”

“YES! A love story is _exactly_ what this series needs. Write it down. We’re drafting an outline in the morning. We’re all going to be filthy rich!” Draco pointed at Ron, and Hermione looked at Harry, her features twisted into a mixture of amusement and shock.

Harry looked around the room to see what antics the rest of the crowd was getting up to, and jabbed Draco in the shoulder repeatedly when he saw Luna sitting in Ruby’s lap, the two of them cuddled close and paying no mind to anyone around them.

“What the hell, Potter?! Are you trying to bore a hole into my skin?”

“Look!” Harry excitedly pointed in the direction of the two women, and then lowered his finger as he realized how obvious he was being.

“Oooohhh, would you look at that! You were absolutely right. I’m going to grill her for the gossipy details in the morning.”

“You keep saying _morning_ like any of us are actually going to be functioning before noon.”

“Good point.” Draco nodded sagely and kissed Harry’s neck. “I’m going outside to smoke. Come with me?”

“You want me to go _outside_ and shiver in the dead of winter just because you have a nicotine addiction?”

“I want company!” Draco pouted. “As my boyfriend, I’m fairly certain that’s part of your job description.”

“Hmm, I must have missed that page in the relationship handbook.” Harry chuckled into his cup.

“I’ll go with you!” Hermione cheerfully offered, much to the puzzlement of everyone. “I’m actually a bit too warm. I think I could use some air.”

“Alright.” Draco smiled and slipped into his coat. “Let the boys sweat about what we’re saying about them.”

“Hey! I don’t know how I feel about you two teaming up.” Ron looked back and forth between Draco and Hermione. “That could be a well scary combination.”

Harry nodded vigorously, but he couldn’t say he was displeased about them slipping outside together. Maybe the alcohol and the festive atmosphere were responsible for how smoothly everything was going tonight, but Harry was eternally grateful for it.

Harry and Ron migrated over to where Luna and Ruby were still seated, a small crowd of people perched on every edge of furniture in the vicinity.

“I knew you two would like each other,” Harry declared smugly as he sat down next to Luna.

“You have fabulous intuition, Harry!” Ruby exclaimed as she reached across Luna to squeeze Harry’s hand.

“He does,” Luna agreed with a contemplative smile, “He always has, even in the worst of times. It takes a lot to cloud his vision.”

“Thank you, Luna. You know, you didn’t seem surprised about me and Draco. I guess I should expect that from you though, shouldn’t I?” Harry tilted his head as he thought back on all the crucial revelations Luna had imparted to him over the years. Luna complimenting his intuition was the highest of accolades given that hers was unmatched. People didn’t give her enough credit for how sharp her observations of human nature were. Sure, she was eccentric, but she saw what others were too mentally cluttered to see. There was something so pure and beautiful about the lens through which she saw the world. Information passed through unaltered by the complications of adult life, never muddied by cynicism and the jaded effects of tragedy and time. Harry thought most people could learn a thing or two from her outlook on life.

“Oh, of course not. You’ve always been complementary even if you were at odds most of the time. The universe just needed to rearrange the elements to allow for you to be together,” Luna stated as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Your auras are quite compatible shades of blue and green, you know. The colors have changed over time, but they only grow closer together. And there’s the matter of your patronuses as well, so really it makes perfect sense.”

“Our patronuses? I don’t understand.” Harry frowned as he tried to parse her meaning.

“They’re the same.”

“I…didn’t know that.”

“No, I suspect he didn’t want you to. Draco tries very hard to project confidence so no one notices that he’s actually quite sensitive and insecure. He has trouble accepting that he deserves love so he usually rejects people before they can reject him. It’s quite sad, really. I’m very glad to see he’s trying to change it. I’m sure you’ve been a great help to him with that.” Luna beamed at him, and Harry filed away a reminder to keep in better touch with her. She wasn’t someone whose influence he ever wanted to lose in his life. Suddenly, he was seized with the urge to find Draco and hold him close, cover his smooth skin with kisses until he harbored no doubts about how much Harry loved – oh… _oh._ Harry’s mouth went slack as he processed the bombshell his brain had dropped so casually. To make matters worse, Luna inferred the meaning of his expression immediately. “Oh, don’t worry. He feels exactly the same. I imagine he has for a long time now.”

“Uhhh…yeah…will you excuse me, Luna? I think I need some air.” Only a few minutes ago, the frozen weather had sounded unbearable to Harry, much less preferable than the cozy comfort of the merrily decorated warehouse, but now the setting was stifling and claustrophobic, too humid and stale with the influx of bodies packed in the large space that now seemed to be growing exponentially smaller.

Harry didn’t wait for a response as he fled, throwing the heavy exit door open as he gulped lungfuls of the brisk air, the winter wind evaporating the sweat from his forehead. As he caught his breath and came back to his senses, he heard familiar voices not far off. Apparently, Hermione and Draco were still outside. Harry walked in the direction of the sounds until he saw the two of them leaning against a large oak tree. Although his vantage point gave him a clear view of them both, Harry was hidden from their line of sight. He started to approach but halted as he discerned the words of their conversation.

“No one asked you to stay. Not McGonagall, not me, not anyone. We should have.” Hermione’s tone was grave and contrite.

“I doubt it would have made a difference, Hermione. My parents were begging me to join them, and we’d both just come out of the dread of not knowing if the other was alive. Bigger things were happening anyway. Who the hell had time to care about a bratty, entitled twat’s internal struggles?” Draco shrugged and took a long drag from his cigarette.

“Harry would have. If he’d been fully awake at that moment, or if he hadn’t been biding his time to strike, I’m not sure…the timing of everything is a blur, really…but if he could have, I bet he would.” Hermione leaned her head against the tree with a sigh.

“You’re probably right. He’s annoyingly compassionate like that. Do you know what he did when he came into Hacienda for the first time?”

Hermione shook her head and hugged her arms around her waist.

“He just treated me like anyone else, any other person from school you might run into. No contempt, no avoidance, totally courteous. Asked me what I’d been up to, asked me for music recommendations, _thanked_ me when I gave them, it was so…”

_But so did you, you idiot. You were nothing less than polite._

Draco took a deep breath and propped the sole of his foot against the tree.

“I still don’t know what possessed me because Merlin knows I got cowardly as fuck about it further down the line. But that day, I grabbed the opportunity as hard as I could. Didn’t know if I’d get another.”

Harry grinned in the dark as he thought about that first meeting, the way his stomach had buzzed with nerves he hadn’t yet identified when he saw Draco behind the counter, tall and lanky and incomparably gorgeous. It occurred to him that Draco may have partly wanted to be punished, self-flagellating over his past transgressions and harboring a desire for Harry to reproach instead of being amicable. He was pleased to have subverted his expectations. 

“Are you in love with him?” Hermione covered her mouth as though she could physically force the words back down her throat. “That was ill-mannered to blurt out. I’m sorry, Draco. It’s been so many years since you started having feelings for him, and then you finally get him after all this time…”

“You’re not wrong, but look…” Draco tapped his cigarette, the buildup of ash tumbling to the ground, and took another drag before turning to face Hermione. “Christ, I must be _way_ too drunk if I’m telling you this…the thing about it is that _yes_ , it’s been years for me. For Harry, it’s only been a few months and even less if we’re counting from the day we decided that we’re definitely together. It’s completely unfair to lay that on him, you know? Nothing petrifies me more than wanting him so excessively beyond the way he wants me. I can’t tell him I love him and see a blank, frightened look on his face. I can _picture_ it in graphic detail; I’ve no desire to actually experience it.”

“You don’t know that for certain. You’re not clairvoyant,” Hermione chided.

Draco snorted and stamped out his cigarette butt on the ground, the smoke mingling with the opaque vapor of their expelled breaths.

“Come on, Hermione. He might have given me a clean slate for which I am much obliged, but it’s a bit more far-fetched to suppose he might _love_ me.” Harry was glad he couldn’t see the pain that was undoubtedly displayed on Draco’s face as he confessed that. He wanted to intervene and convince Draco that he was mistaken, but this was already a private conversation he knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on. Despite that, he couldn’t resist hanging around to see what would happen next.

“He’s mad about you, and frankly, I don’t think someone gets that serious about another person that quickly unless some feelings were already there. He saved you from the Fiendfyre. Ron and I gave it zero thought. As much as I’m ashamed to admit that, it’s true.

“I don’t blame you. I hadn’t given you much reason to,” Draco mumbled darkly.

Hermione put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.

“We should have. Just as we should have told you to stay during the battle. As much as we can rationalize away Harry’s actions by saying that’s just how Harry _is_ …I don’t think so. It’s more complicated than that. He’s like anyone else. He has vendettas and gets sidetracked by emotions. He’s motivated by all sorts of things; he’s far from perfect.”

“Well, now _that_ I agree with.” Draco smirked and lit another cigarette.

“I think that somewhere along the way, even if it wasn’t as clearly defined as it was for you, his fixation went beyond the guise of finding out what dark magic you were up to. He _saved_ you because he wanted you to live. You said we all had bigger problems? That we didn’t have time to think about you? Neither did Harry in the Room of Requirement, but he _did_ think about you, didn’t he?” Hermione gave Draco a tender smile, but Harry couldn’t see what expression was written across Draco’s face. “And doesn’t it hurt? Not telling him?”

Malfoy took a quick pull on his cigarette and leaned his head against the jagged bark of the tree. He closed his eyes and didn’t respond, but Harry suspected he knew the answer. 

“I could covertly ask him if you like,” Hermione suggested. Draco’s eyes shot open, wide and questioning.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure. Why not? It’s a perfectly reasonable question for a friend to ask when they’re seeing someone. It’s not as though it would make him suspect anything. I could ask him exactly what I asked you: do you love him?”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, the whistling of the wind and the rustle of the dead leaves across grass and pavement filling the hushed night. It was cold enough for snow, but somehow the flurries never seemed to appear long enough to make an impression. They would float by, powdery specks of pure white that sailed past so quickly it made one second guess what they had seen, little winter ghosts wafting their dissolving bodies on gusts of wind. Nothing accumulated, and Harry was beginning to grow anxious for the first snowfall. It was nearly Christmas, after all. He looked up at the sky, that odd shade of streetlight-tinged blueish black dripping down to the horizon, and debated how much longer he could stand out there undetected.

“Don’t. If he says no, it would be too…” Draco took a deep breath, his slim frame shuddering from the cold, and finished his cigarette. “I should do it. I’ve had enough of standing by and letting everyone else be brave for me.”

“You really have changed so much, Draco. I’m glad I get to see it.”

For a second, Harry thought they were going to hug, but instead Draco laughed nervously and looked back toward the warehouse. Harry pressed his back against the building, retreating further into the shadows.

“I think we better go inside before things get too nauseatingly sappy, Granger. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’ve gone soft, now would we?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Hermione laughed, and Harry quietly opened the door, slipping inside as his lips stretched into a wide smile.

_Draco Malfoy loves me. He loves me, and I love him._

The thought wasn’t as astonishing as it had been only minutes ago. Knowing that Draco was cascading down the waterfall with him made it feel like less of a steep drop. But he knew enough of Draco by now to decide on waiting for the right moment instead of carelessly grabbing him and divulging everything at the first chance.

“There you are! The worst part of throwing these bashes is circulating around like a beheaded chicken!” Ruby hugged Harry from behind and kissed his cheek. “I never get enough time with my favorite people.”

“Hostessing is hard.” Harry whirled around to face her. “Especially when you’re as talented as you are.”

“Sweet boy.” Ruby ruffled his hair. “Thank you again for introducing me to Luna. I don’t know what it is about that boarding school of yours, but apparently it churned out nothing but stunning, unique geniuses. It’s really quite unfair to the rest of us, you know. Makes us all look bad!”

Ruby narrowed her eyes with a silly smile and took a sip of her drink.

“I love Ron, but I don’t know that you could call him a genius of any sort.” Harry laughed as he watched the redhead gesticulating wildly across the room, generally looking a bit vaudevillian in his lack of coordination.

“Nonsense! He’s lovely! All your friends are. I’m positively tickled that Draco invited them. You’re rounding out that boy’s edges more and more, you know.” Ruby’s eyes turned conspiratorial, and Harry’s cheeks reddened.

“You think so?”

“I _know_ so, and as it has been tirelessly established, I’m never, ever wrong.” Ruby pointed a jokingly stern finger at him. “Did he tell you about his mother yet?”

“He hasn’t said anything recently, no.” Harry grabbed a cup from the table behind them and began to pour a new drink.

“She asked him to come home for Christmas. Don’t know if he’s going to yet. He’s been very quiet about it. Just dropped it all matter-of-factly with a shrug, like he does. But I could _hear_ the wheels turning, you know?” Ruby looked at Harry knowingly, and Harry dropped his eyes to the floor. He knew Draco hadn’t been to the manor in months. The way Draco talked about it like the very words singed his tongue gave Harry the unshakeable impression that it was no longer a place of comfort and good memories for him. It smarted a little that Draco hadn’t told him about Christmas. Harry’s rational brain knew he probably just wasn’t ready to talk about it, but alcohol and emotion swept rationality away in a tide of distress.

“Yeah…I think he fancies himself harder to read than he actually is.” Harry rotated the cup in his hand, staring down into the brown liquid.

Ruby nodded solemnly, and Harry turned his head as he heard the door opening. Draco and Hermione walked in, and Hermione rushed over to a gleefully drunk Ron who enclosed her in a tight embrace. Draco turned to the side, eyes lighting up when he saw Harry.

“I’ll leave you boys be. Don’t forget to say goodbye before you leave!” Ruby waved as she skipped off to make the rounds once again.

Draco greeted Harry with a kiss. The heat of his lips trailing down to Harry’s ear vanished all misgivings.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m tired of everyone who isn’t you,” Draco huskily whispered, nipping at his neck.

“Is that so?” Harry smiled and pulled back until they were eye to eye, his hand resting on the back of Draco’s neck.

“Yes. They’re all rubbish because they’re standing in the way of us being naked in your bed.” Draco slid a hand into the back pocket of Harry’s trousers and gave his arse a small squeeze.

“Let’s say our goodbyes then.”

 

***  

 

Draco sullenly whined about Harry’s unwillingness to drunkenly apparate them back to his flat. Harry firmly reminded him that a splinched arm or leg would be an utterly unsexy impediment to the rest of the evening. Draco conceded with a huffy “you’re no fun. Where’s the Harry Potter who constantly risked his life for things way less important than sex with _me_?,” but insisted they get a cab instead of dealing with public transit.

The second Harry opened the door to his place, Draco hauled him in by his shirt collar and pinned him against the door, devouring his mouth and grinding their hips together. Harry moaned and began to work the buttons of Draco’s coat, cursing winter for existing. Too many layers were separating them. They backed toward the bedroom, nearly tripping a couple times in their haste to stay fused, limbs and lips locked together. By the time they made it to Harry’s bed, they were both shirtless and frantically working to shed the trousers and pants that were the last obstacles to skin sliding against skin.

Draco sucked a bruise onto Harry’s neck and scraped his teeth along his collarbone. Harry trembled with a gasp and bent down to do the same to Draco (that elegant, long neck had become a favorite spot of his) but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Why haven’t you fucked me yet?” Draco was breathless and flushed, eyes heavy and pleading with arousal as he tugged Harry’s hair at the root.

“I thought,” Harry moaned as Draco ran teasing fingers along the cleft of his arse, “whether or not we’ve fucked isn’t defined by what holes have been penetrated.”

“And _I_ thought,” Draco nipped at Harry’s ear and thrust up against him insistently, “we were going to fuck every possible way. Don’t you want to?”

The way Draco asked, throaty voice whispering in his ear, warm breath and moist tongue barely touching Harry’s skin but somehow coursing through every nerve-ending until he felt it _everywhere_ , made Harry want to flip him over and fuck him into the mattress. Still, he had his reservations.

“I do. Fuck, I _really_ do, but not like this.” Harry braced himself for sarcasm and exasperation.

“Like what?! In your bed, both of us happy and horny as fuck? What’s wrong, Harry?” Draco laughed, but it wasn’t a derisive sound. He was asking honestly.

“Nothing’s… _wrong_ exactly…I just…” Harry fumbled for the right words but none came.

“Is it a safety thing? We haven’t really gone over that, but I’ve been very thorough about condoms and protection spells. Almost got caught by a Muggle doing the latter once which is a funny anecdote for later, bbuutt I promise everything is spotless on that front. And I haven’t slept with anyone since we met…er…” Draco frowned at his mistake, and they both laughed. Harry laid his head on Malfoy’s shoulder. “Clearly I’m still a little drunk, but you know what I meant! I haven’t been with anyone since we started…well, not since you came into the shop, actually.”

Draco said the last part quietly as though Harry might not notice, the words dissolving into the ether before his boyfriend could make him elaborate.

“You were holding out for me?” Harry’s lips curved against Draco’s skin.

“Fuck off,” Draco halfheartedly said, turning his cheek to the pillow.

“You _were_. You were saving yourself for me because the comparisons between you and a pining Victorian lady are never-ending.” Harry kissed his neck and tickled his ribs.

“Oh my god, I wasn’t _saving_ myself! One technically has to be a virgin in order to be _saving_ anything. I just didn’t want anyone else! You told me you liked blokes right away, and you…” Draco groaned and put a hand over his eyes. “It seemed possible for the first time ever, and I didn’t want to muck it up by shagging some guy I didn’t give a Merlin’s tit about. There, you’ve dragged it out of me. Now are you going to make it worth all the waiting or not?”

“So impatient for my cock.” Harry smiled smugly, enjoying the delicious good fortune of having this beautiful man who could walk into a bar and have anyone he wanted begging _Harry_ to fuck him.

“When you’ve waited for literal years, one does tend to grow impatient, yes.” Draco cupped Harry’s chin and claimed his mouth again, hungry tongue tracing the seam of his lips until they opened.

“You’re going to laugh at me,” Harry lamented as their lips parted.

Draco frowned, and then the creases in his forehead smoothed out as he understood.

“You want it to be special, and a half drunk, rushed shag after a party isn’t that, is it?”

Harry was relieved to not hear any disdain in Draco’s voice. He sounded like he was simply clarifying, like the puzzle pieces were clicking into place.

“I know it sounds so stupid and old fashioned, but yeah…it hasn’t felt quite right for me yet.” Harry rolled off Draco and onto his side, fingers running up and down Malfoy’s chest, tracing the Sectumsempra scars. Draco quivered ever so slightly under his fingers. “For all I know, tomorrow I’ll not give a shit and won’t be able to wait a second longer, but tonight isn’t that night. I’m sorry. I promise it’s not going to be a year or something. I’m just not ready yet.”

“Okay. Then we’ll wait.” Draco turned onto his side until they were facing and kissed Harry’s shoulder.

“That’s it? No comments about how I’m the most Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors? No jabs about candlelight and rose petals?”

“Truthfully, I’m too comforted to make any jokes. I didn’t know if you were going to say something worse.” Draco sighed and pulled Harry closer. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to.”

“I _really_ want to. And soon, okay?” Harry kissed him and cradled one perky arse cheek, all the heat surging between his legs once again. “In the meantime, we could still do something new…if you want to.”

“Color me intrigued, Potter.” Draco’s lips curled up mischievously as he waited to hear what Harry had in mind.

“Do you like – ”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry?”

“Surprise me,” Draco purred, the sound travelling straight to Harry’s half-hard cock.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Get on your stomach for me?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow like he might ask why, but he didn’t. He only rolled over obediently, cheek resting on an outstretched arm. Harry gathered his courage and lifted Draco’s hips to slide a pillow underneath. Malfoy looked so flawless like this, pliant and submissively spread out for the taking. Harry gasped a little as he traced the lines of his leanly muscular thighs, the muscles tensing minutely under his fingertips. He gingerly pushed Draco’s knees further apart and lay down between his open legs. He kissed up the supple curve of Draco’s arse, relishing the faint moans it elicited from him. Finally, he gently pulled his cheeks apart and licked a tentative stripe across his entrance.

Draco gasped and gathered the sheets in his fists. Pleased to see he wasn’t uncomfortable, Harry dove in more confidently, drawing circles around the puckered skin with his moist tongue, licking long, slow lines with the flat of it and quick, short laps with the tip. When Draco’s moans intensified and he bucked back against Harry’s mouth, he redoubled his efforts, swift tongue making him wetter and wetter, every fiber of his being attuned to the sounds Draco was making. 

“ _God,_ I was praying this was what you meant,” Draco breathily admitted, clutching the pillow under his head as Harry pushed the tip of his tongue past the ring of muscle. “You don’t have any right to be this good at it.”

Harry chuckled.

“I’m just a good listener. Merlin, I really like this.” It was different than Harry had thought it would be. So warm and inviting, the skin so delicate he almost feared he would damage it. And the _sounds_ Draco made when he opened him up with his tongue…Harry thought he could live on those sounds alone.

“Mmm, can I get on my back? Want to see you.”

Harry withdrew and gave Draco’s hip a little push to urge him to go ahead. Harry hooked his arms around Draco’s thighs as he settled on his back, looking up at him with lust-filled green eyes.

“Why do you always have to look so fucking good?” Draco whispered. “I used to secretly look at you all the time.”

“You did?” Harry’s whole body melted from the inside out.

Draco nodded and pushed Harry’s messy fringe back from his forehead. _I love you I love you I love you._ It thrummed through Harry like a mantra infiltrating his every pore, his every cell, but when he tried to speak, his throat tightened. Instead, he poured everything he was feeling into his touch. His hands, his lips, his tongue caressing Draco’s thighs and dipping down to lick across his entrance once again. Draco’s hand tightened in his hair, his legs spreading wider, knees drawing up toward his torso as he pressed into Harry’s mouth. Harry wrapped his hand around Draco’s leaking erection from where it jutted, swollen and red, on his taut stomach. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Draco moaned as Harry found a rhythm, fingers stroking up and down his cock while his tongue kept sliding across that velvet skin. The blond jerked up into Harry’s hand, chasing that delicious friction, and then bucked back against the warmth of his tongue, unable to decide what he wanted more. Harry slid his thumb over the dripping head, smirking when he heard the hitch in Malfoy’s breath. When Malfoy’s whole body seemed to draw up tight and tense like a piano wire, Harry knew he was close. He moved his attention away from Malfoy’s entrance, the whimper at the loss quickly replaced by a groan when Harry swallowed him down, the head of Draco’s cock rubbing against the roof of his mouth as he glided his lips over the shaft. Hands explored Harry’s body almost manically in that way he had grown to love. It was like Draco didn't know what part he liked feeling underneath his palms the most, hands fisting in his curls, gripping his shoulders, groping for his hand in the dark to entwine their fingers. Draco hoarsely cried out Harry’s name as he came down his throat, back arcing off the bed. Harry crawled up the bed to lie beside him, absorbed in the music of Draco’s stuttering, panting breath returning to normal, enamored with the knowledge that he was the cause of that.

“Sorry I’m just lying here like a useless sod. That was…I need a minute.” Draco turned to Harry with a beatific smile. The streetlights streamed in through the gaps in the curtains to reflect off Draco’s eyes until they were sparkling like pyrite.

“Good?” Harry asked even though he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

“ _So_ fucking good.” Draco pulled him closer for a kiss, rolling Harry onto his back so he could snuggle against his chest. “I promise I won’t fall asleep. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I don’t keep an orgasm tally, Draco. It’s fine.” Harry laughed softly and kissed the top of his head.

“You should. _I_ would,” Draco mumbled sleepily, the cadence of his breathing slowing down. Harry could tell he was on brink of sleep.

“That’s because you’re _you_ ,” Harry teased, but Draco was already quietly snoring on his shoulder.

 

*** 

 

_“Couldn’t we just leave? I don’t want him here anymore,” Draco whispered cautiously, eyes darting around like a frightened rabbit alert for wolves in the high grass. It felt like the walls had eyes. No room of the manor was home anymore, no sanctuary to be found in the ancient stone halls. Only whispers of dread, haunting voices that wailed like grieving widows around every corner. “Someone could protect us. Maybe – ”_

_“Suppose he heard you!” Lucius hissed, hunching over his son who was huddled in a tight, shaking ball on the ground, blurry eyes unfocused as he tried to recall his surroundings. All the familiarity had been drained from this ornate tile floor, the light pouring in from the high-arched windows obscured by the gloom through which it was now filtered. The air was stagnant and stale, riddled with poison Draco could swear he SAW swirling in toxic, purple clouds around him. “We have already been disgraced. I will not have us sink any further, do you understand? You need to remember what your name is, Draco, and you need to remember what it stands for. Have I made myself clear?”_

_The spikes around the edges of Lucius’s words felt like daggers digging into Draco’s delicate skin, no love or tenderness to be found in them. A desperate, piteous “daddy” formed on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he called his father that. He wanted to beg to be held, to be placated and lied to about how everything would turn out alright, but the cold steel of the eyes looking back at him, eyes that looked so much like his own and yet held nothing he recognized anymore, made it obvious that Lucius wouldn’t offer him comfort ever again. Not in the way he once had._

_Great swelling clouds of black smoke rose from the ground, noxious plumes winding like snakes around the room and around Draco’s body, seeping into his eyes, his throat, and his nose until he was coughing, the very life choked out of him as everything faded to black. Every iota of light was eradicated as the smoke devoured everything in its path, and then –_

_“Draco!”_

_A voice pierced the weighted blanket of darkness, but the sooty spirals took hold of his lungs, squeezing out every drop of air until there was nothing left. He tried to call out for help, to answer the recognizable voice, but his constricted throat couldn’t expel a single noise no matter how hard he tried to scream._

_“DRACO!”_

“Draco, I think you’re having a nightmare. Can you hear me?” Harry shook his boyfriend’s shoulder, alarmed by the thick sobs wracking his body, the way he was curled into a defensive fetal position, eyes squeezed shut tight, lips contorted in a grimace of pain.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco tore out of Harry’s grasp, but there wasn’t anywhere left to go. He was coiled tightly at the very top edge of the bed so he sprung out of it and sat on the floor, leaning his back against Harry’s closet door. Harry got up to approach but then thought better of it. Malfoy’s arms were wrapped so tightly around his legs, his chin resting atop his knees as he continued to weep, his skinny frame suddenly appearing so diminutive and frail. Usually his willowy body was statuesque, something commanding and intimidating in the way it moved so proudly, gliding through the air like he owned it. When Malfoy entered a room, people looked. His presence always filled the room, but now he was shrinking inside himself, disappearing into the slouchy white t-shirt that drooped around his shoulders.

He took a gulping, sputtering breath, a drowning victim’s needy intake of air, and Harry carefully got up from the bed. He took a couple steps toward him, and Malfoy’s head shot up, eyes feral and fearful. Harry lowered himself to the floor and didn’t come any closer.

“Draco? Are you okay?” Harry kept his voice as quiet and soothing as possible, not sure what else to do. Draco had mentioned his nightmares during that first fight of theirs, but this was the first indication that they weren’t a thing of the past.

Draco’s eyes shifted, a fog receded in the irises, and he nodded very slowly. His breathing was less erratic now although still labored, and he loosened the grip on his legs.

“W-what did I say?” Draco rasped, mouth no doubt dry from the sobs and yelling out in his sleep. Harry made a note to get him some water very soon. “I-I mean…was I yelling anything? I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. You – ” Harry recalled the strained _Daddy, I can’t_ and deemed it best not to share it in detail. “I think you were calling out for your father. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

Draco squinted at the floor and chewed on his lip. There was a hollow silence swathing the bedroom, like the sound had been sucked from the atmosphere to leave a vacuum. Harry idly wondered what time it was. There were no hints of early dawn through the curtains yet.

“The manor…when…” Draco cradled his head in his hands and took a steadying breath, “when _he_ was there. My father and I were arguing about it, and then…just dream nonsense…black smoke consuming everything…”

_Did he tell you about his mother yet?_

“Ruby told me your mother asked you to come home for Christmas…do you think that’s maybe why you’re dreaming about it again?”

“Probably.” Harry had expected a rebuke, but Draco only sounded eerily calm. Numb. Drugged almost.

“Are you ready to go? Maybe you shouldn’t.” Harry scooted across the floor until he was a foot or so away from Draco.

“I have to. Mother really wants me to, and…I’ve avoided it long enough. I won’t make her be alone on Christmas just because I’ve had some bad dreams.” Draco tilted his head back against the closet door with a soft thud and closed his eyes.

“You don’t _have_ to do anything you don’t want to, Draco. I’ll tell her my bloody self if you need me to.” Harry reached out and placed a hand on Draco’s knee. Draco jerked away and glared at him.

“Oh yes, you’re so valiant. You’re Harry fucking Potter. _We all get it_. I’m not a mission for you to complete so do us both a favor and stop trying to save me,” Draco scoffed, his face transforming into that old familiar sneer.

“I’m just worried about you.” Harry retracted his hand like it had been burned.

“I won’t be another _thing_ Harry Potter takes care of. I don’t need that weighing on me.” Draco got up quickly and started getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” Harry got up from the floor and frowned as he watched Draco throwing on his trousers and sweater.

“I need air. I need space. I don’t need _this_ ,” He spat as he buttoned his trousers. “You looking at me like a specimen in a jar, waiting for me to crack and breakdown so you can pick up the pieces.”

Harry ran over to his nightstand and opened the top drawer to retrieve his wand.

“ _Colloportus!_ ” Harry pointed his wand at the bedroom door, and it locked with a click.

“What the fuck, Potter?!” Draco spun around and glowered at him.

“You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch to give you some room. Have a smoke on the balcony if you need to be outside. Or if you don’t feel like trying to sleep and want to watch something or listen to music, I’ll stay in here and give you the living room. Whatever you need. But you’re not wondering off in the middle of the night shaken and alone.” Harry lowered his wand and took a deep breath, abruptly worried he’d gone too far. After all, Draco probably knew better what to do with his trauma than Harry did. He’d been living with it for years. Still, letting him leave in the wee hours of the morning without at least trying to let him know he was here for him seemed foolish. 

“Your persistence is really quite the thorn in my side, Potter.” There was bitterness there, but a hint of humor was underneath it. “I’ll take the bedroom…if you’re sure.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Um, I guess I should… _Alohomora_.” Harry unlocked the door a bit sheepishly, feeling self-conscious about the theatrics of a few minutes ago. Draco began to undress, and Harry left him to it, grabbing his phone on the way out.

He checked the time. It was just after four in the morning. The intensity of what had just occurred was like a barrage of electric volts to Harry’s system. Drifting back into restful sleep didn’t seem possible. He walked over to the record player and sorted through a crate for something soothing, selecting Sufjan Stevens’s _Seven Swans._ The needle dropped, and Sufjan’s placid voice crooned over the acoustic music.

_If I am alive this time next year_

_Will I have arrived in time to share?_

_And mine is about as good this far_

_And I'm still applied to what you are_

_And I am joining all my thoughts to you_

_And I'm preparing every part for you_

Harry adjusted the volume so the songs would trickle into the bedroom enough to help Draco relax but weren’t so loud as to discourage sleep. He put the kettle on, pulling some chamomile tea down from the shelf, smiling fleetingly as he imagined Draco making fun of his old English woman habits, his reliance on tea to alleviate the punch of unsavory situations. When the tea was ready, he poured a cup along with a glass of cold water and tiptoed into the bedroom. Draco didn’t stir, but his eyes were open, the comforter pulled up to his neck. Harry set the mug and the glass down on the nightstand, his eyes flickering over to Draco’s.

“It’s chamomile…might help you get back to sleep if you want.”

“Thanks. I’m – ” Draco turned onto his back and rubbed his eyes. “Could you turn the music up a bit?”

“Sure. Is the record okay or do you want something else?”

"No, it's good," Draco softly said.

Harry hesitated, overcome with the urge to give him a parting kiss but not sure how it would be received. After a moment that felt like it stretched into eternity, he walked toward the door.

“Look…Harry…” Draco struggled to speak, every syllable coming out hoarse and ragged. Defeat was evident in the way his eyes went flat, his whole body sinking back into the bed from the toll the episode had taken.

“It’s okay. Just let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Harry leaned against the doorframe until he saw Draco nod, his grey eyes glassy and melancholy but understanding. He exited into the living room and lay down on the couch. Thoughts of war, of regret and pain, of an aftermath that felt perpetual even when it was in recession, of turmoil that left one in the confusing limbo of adulthood wrapped in child’s packaging, an identity that was muddled and contradictory at best, prodded at the barriers of safety in Harry’s mind. Those barriers had been erected painstakingly and with purpose, an attention to detail and the necessity of survival at the forefront to their integral construction. In his mind’s eye, he saw them threatening to crumble and balled his fists at his sides as if to ward off the demons, but he knew these were phantoms one couldn’t reach out to batter with fists. Harry took timed breaths, counts of three on the inhale and counts of three on the exhale, and silently seethed. Hating trauma, hating war, hating emotionally bankrupt fathers, and most of all hating the sinister voice that whispers it’s weak to need, feeble to crawl into the arms of someone else and lean on their warmth for comfort when it’s all too much for one person to bear.

That voice was a parasite, a winding worm foraging for insecurities and preying upon them, latched so irrevocably that unhooking its claws was a Herculean task. Harry had fallen victim to it plenty of times even when he was surrounded by the most supportive people he’d ever known, and he was certain Draco had been under its clutches far more. No, sleep wouldn’t come easily for either of them. Sufjan sang about cultivating inspiration from the signs the universe gave him, and Harry wished he could be blessed with a similar epiphany.

_I saw a sign in the sky:_

_Seven swans, seven swans, seven swans._

_I heard a voice in my mind:_

_"I will try, I will try, I will try._

_I will try, I will try, I will try.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First set of lyrics is from the first track from Seven Swans, "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands." The second set is from the song that shares the album's title. 
> 
> I think the latter part of this chapter along with the next chapter sort of epitomize what Draco says in the beginning of this one: progress isn't a straight line. Also, I made a Drarry sideblog because clearly my obsession can't be contained to my Hannibal blog when I'm over here writing a multi chapter fic haha. [Here it is!](https://dracoismytrashson.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives a little more background on how both boys have been recovering in the past year and a half and how supporting a partner with trauma can be a learning process. Not as dark and involved as it can get with this pairing as I think this fic is still overall a bit fluffy. :) It's sort of an apt chapter for me to post today since I took an insomnia/depression day off from work (is that TMI? is there such a thing in fandom? :P) Let me know what you think if you can!

Harry awoke to the sound of a car alarm and shouting in the street below. Most of the time, Harry found the urban noise of London to be an incongruous comfort. The incessant clamor gave one the illusion of never really being alone which was advantageous when he emerged from the oppressive atmosphere of war and tried to make this flat his new home. But right then, waking with a gritty film coating his eyes and that dull tension headache that accompanies sleep deprivation, he could see the appeal of a cottage on a serene acre of verdant land. The argument on the street grew louder, a barking male voice interrupted by female one so shrill that Harry couldn’t make out a single word. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry croaked, rubbing his eyes and leaning up on his elbows with a groan. Draco indolently padded out into the living room and shot the kitchen window a withering look. “You’re awake too?”

“Couldn’t very well sleep through that. Fucking London…” Draco sat on the only open couch cushion, folding an ankle under his thigh. “It’s a landfill of degenerates stacked on top of each other with the density of a chicken coop on a factory farm.”

“You really are at your most pleasant in the morning,” Harry said with a weak laugh. “Since you live here too, I guess that makes you one of the degenerates.”

The truth of the matter was that Draco looked exhausted. Harry kicked himself for not thinking of the old vial of Dreamless Sleep stashed in his bedroom closet. He had used the potion pretty regularly after the war, and although he hadn’t touched it in a few months now, he continued to keep some on hand.

To Harry’s surprise, Draco moved from the cushion to lay between Harry’s spread legs, head resting right below his heart. Harry lay cautious hands on Draco’s upper back, rubbing circles into the muscles when his boyfriend made a pleased sigh.

“Thank you for giving me space last night.” Arms wrapped around Harry’s torso, and all concerns were temporarily shelved as he relaxed into the touch.

“Do you want to talk – ”

“NO.” Harry bristled at the brusque reply but found that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Are you still going? Am I at least allowed to ask what my boyfriend’s plans are for Christmas?” Harry’s tone turned vitriolic in a way he hadn’t intended.

Draco laughed mirthlessly and sat up, turning his head away from Harry.

“Yes, and I don’t need your damn permission, Potter. I have to get going. I have work in a few hours, and I need some sleep that isn’t aborted by screaming Muggles having a domestic in the street.” Draco got up and disappeared into the bedroom. Harry heard the rustle of clothes and followed him.

“I wasn’t suggesting you needed my blessing, Draco. I just want to make sure you’re not putting yourself in a situation you aren’t ready for simply to prove that you can handle it.” Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the dresser as Draco threw on clothes, preparing to flee for the second time that morning.

Draco’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! This is my _mother_ , Harry. She's the only family member I have left that isn’t a total piece of shit. I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. How condescending of you to presume that you know _anything_ about what this visit means to me. You don’t have context for everything. You don’t know everything about me or my family or that house. You are not a goddamn therapist, and I am not your goddamn patient. I have one I actually _pay_ to give me her opinions, thank you very much. I don’t need yours. This decision wasn’t made on a lark.” Draco was fuming, the ice of his eyes lethal as he finished getting dressed.

“You have a therapist? Like a Muggle one?” Harry tried unsuccessfully to curb the incredulity in the question.

“Yes, Potter. Don’t act so floored. Did you honestly think I got here on my own?” Draco’s scathing voice made Harry want to crawl in a hole and dwell on how oblivious he was. He recalled how Draco had sounded rehearsed when first apologizing to Hermione, so collected and mature. _Progress isn’t a straight line…or so I’m told._ “I don’t tell you everything, and you know what? You’re not _owed_ information just because we’re together now. If there’s one thing my parents were right about it’s the complete lack of manners and tact you – ”

Draco stopped, a pallor drawing over his face like a doomed curtain as he realized he’d gone too far.

“Why stop there, Malfoy?! Tell me how I would have a better sense of privacy and how to act if I were raised like a proper pureblood. This is what you’re always afraid of, isn’t it? Acting like you haven’t changed?” Harry challenged, the ringing of blood rushing in his ears as he lost all desire to behave like an adult. His only thought was that if Draco wanted to dig the knife in, Harry could just as easily yank it out, turn around, and slice back every bit as deep. 

“Harry...I – ”

“Oh, I’m Harry now, am I? You know what, Malfoy, think what you want. Think that I’m a horrible arsehole for giving a shit. Maybe I do push too much, maybe I am out of line, but I’m trying my best to be good to you and show you I care in the ways I know how. I’m sorry if it isn’t bloody perfect every time, but you’re not perfect either. And you know what? I don’t punish you for that.” Harry stomped out of the room, lamenting that his flat was so small that there wasn’t much of anywhere to stomp _to_. Only thirty feet or so later, he was back on the couch.

“I shouldn’t have – ” Draco appeared at the edge of the couch looking like a wounded puppy, but Harry was too riled up to feel any compassion. Here they’d only been awake a few minutes, and Draco had laid into him like he couldn’t wait to pick up where they left off last night.

“Just go, Draco. I know you love to be the drama queen and have the last word. You always get to be the one to leave in a huff. Well I’m sorry, but you don’t get to do that this time because I’m telling you _I’ve_ had enough.”

Draco looked stricken, but then his features shifted to reveal a rage that matched Harry’s.

“Fine by me.” The door slammed, and Harry’s blood boiled. He put Modest Mouse’s _Lonesome Crowded West_ on the record player and listened to Isaac Brock sing about what would happen if you could compact your conscience and sell it or save it for another time, and his blood kept on simmering. It wasn’t until a couple hours later, when he’d exhausted the loop of angsty replays of Malfoy’s comments until it snapped like a worn out elastic, that a cold, sinking feeling replaced the indignation. Harry went out for a walk and wandered aimlessly down the London streets until the sun grew pink and orange on the horizon.

 

***

 

The next day, there was no word from Draco, but Harry was afforded an excellent distraction in the form of a trip to Hogwarts. He’d always loved the castle at Christmastime. The glint of the sun off the crisp coating of snow transformed the grounds into a pristine snow globe scene, a much more elegant version than those tacky souvenir ones Aunt Petunia had been so fond of collecting. After the war, the thought of stepping in the stone entryway of what used to be his sanctuary was too arduous to consider let alone actually _try_. Every corridor, every staircase, every archway was imprinted with the spectral memories of blood and smoke and corpses. The echoes of curses and defensive shields flung from the tips of wands, anguished screams and death knells reverberated within the walls. Not to mention the fact that it was literally a shell of its former self after the battle, parts of the façade completely wiped away and strewn about in ruins.

But then, through regular appointments with a mind healer (at Hermione’s dogged suggestion) and the aids of time, friendship, and potions, he began to feel less broken. He returned to the best sense of normalcy he could. It was hard to say what “normal” really meant in Harry’s life. Recalling a time when circumstances weren’t decidedly _abnormal_ was difficult. It had always been one hardship after another really, unexpected mysteries and quests sandwiched together in quick succession.

One of the exercises he’d been taught by his mind healer, Gwendolyn, was to envision a peaceful memory, much like he might were he about to cast his patronus, but to harness the magic instead of releasing it. To absorb the healing power of the happiness he recollected and allow it to pervade him from the inside out as he controlled his breaths with counts of three until the anxiety attack began to retreat, releasing the magic in measured streams of light from his fingertip. At first, it had been so hard to drum up the good memories. All the atrocities he had witnessed gained supremacy, burying the images of lighter times under layers of heavy, jagged rock, creating dark, cavernous spaces that seemed to stretch on into an empty infinity so deep that a stone dropped into their gaping depths would never ricochet off the bottom with a dim clang. Like with anything, it became easier with practice until it was second nature. Harry hadn’t expected the therapy to be so closely aligned with treatment in the Muggle world. Sure, magical implements were woven in, but the principles were much the same and had more of an emphasis on control and discipline than covering it all up with potions. The most important tool in recovery was oneself.

“Think of it in the terms you would a physical ailment. We don’t want to loosely strap a tourniquet over the wound and deal with it later. We want the flesh to mend itself gradually and properly and to _stay_ mended. That takes time and effort. There is no shortcut, and trying to take one will only land you back where you started. Potions are important components to managing the symptoms as you recover, but relying on them without taking steps toward long term recovery will do you no good. Temporary solutions work…until they _don’t_ ,” Gwendolyn had explained to him with kind, chocolate brown eyes and an amiable smile. Harry had been resistant at first. Seeing a mind healer felt frivolous. Unnecessary. But then the cave of darkness in the back of his mind would pull to the forefront, unhinging its jaw like an insidious snake ready to consume, and he would remember why it absolutely was necessary.

Eventually, he returned to the school, and while it would never quite evoke the same feeling it once had, a semblance of warmth and familiarity was ushered back in. But he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in a classroom again. Returning to daily studies and a perfunctory routine sounded unbearable to his restless mind. Everything he’d seen and everything he’d done in the past couple years was so dire in comparison to the commonplace nature of school, training, and the inevitable end goal of a stable career. He had no idea how to incorporate those ordinary milestones into the bizarre constitution of his life. He couldn’t mine his heart for the desire to achieve those things, couldn't muster a reason _why_ they were essential beyond regurgitating what he'd been taught. The question of what the Boy Who Lived Twice wanted to do for the rest of his life remained unanswerable for the time being.

So instead, Harry came for short visits. Harry would have tea with Hagrid and delight in making the acquaintance of whatever new magical creature Hagrid had acquired. A visit was always paid to McGonagall’s office as well for a little chat in which she graciously avoided pressuring Harry about his future. Sometimes, before he left, he would sit on the banks of the Great Lake and watch the sun skid across the water like diamonds. Despite all the near tragedies that had unfolded by that body of water, there were positive memories too, flashbacks to banter with friends and lazy afternoons with bare toes curling around lush grass. There was a meditative comfort in being near it, a reminder that life and nature were sometimes beautiful in the simplest of ways.

Now, as he strolled up the path to the immense building, he didn’t veer off in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid had taken a holiday to France to spend Christmas with Miss Maxime so only McGonagall remained for Harry’s pre-Christmas visit.

Minerva McGonagall waved Harry in with a wide smile and poured him a steaming cup of tea. The first few seconds in the Headmistress’s office never failed to make Harry a little mournful. A corner of his mind would always think of it as Dumbledore’s office.

“So tell me, Harry, what have you been up to? Are you spending the holidays with the Weasleys?” McGonagall cheerily inquired.

“Yes. It’s going to be a really full house this year. Bill and Fleur, Hermione, even Charlie in from Romania for a few days. It’ll be great to see everyone.” Harry beamed back at her and took a sip of tea as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. It was a holiday blend that tingled his tastebuds with vanilla and cinnamon. 

“Excellent. And how have you been filling your time?” It was ambiguous enough to allow Harry to dodge the more serious bend to the question if he wanted. Maybe it was the fight with Draco, maybe it was the honest face of this trustworthy woman who had never been anything but good to him, or maybe it was being back in the hallowed halls of the place he once thought would provide the answers to life’s big questions. Whatever it was, Harry felt safe and ready to ask for advice.

“This and that. Volunteering at St. Mungo’s a bit, Hermione and Ron come into London pretty regularly for lunch, but…” Harry fiddled with his teacup and glanced around at the high, ornately carved arches of the office.

“What’s on your mind, Harry?” McGonagall set her cup down on the desk and leaned forward, giving Harry her full attention.

“You’ve been very kind to me about the fact that I haven’t chosen a career path yet – ”

“You’ve been through quite the series of ordeals, Harry. Rushing into anything would have been unwise. You should feel no need to apologize for taking time regardless of what anyone may have to say about that. However, I suspect most wouldn’t dare to admonish you for it, expect perhaps Miss Granger,” McGonagall interrupted with a playful upturn of her lips.

Harry laughed and set his cup and saucer down on the desk.

“She’s far from shy about it, that’s for sure. But I think…I think I’m ready to talk about it, and I thought I might ask for your opinion?” Harry raised an uncertain eyebrow, suddenly feeling like the meek eleven-year-old he was when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

“Certainly, Mr. Potter. What avenues have you been considering?”

“Well, that’s just it. I feel like having lots of options is supposed to be the ideal position, but is it possible to feel…paralyzed by the amount of options instead of excited to have your pick? Is that normal?” Harry huffed a noise of frustration and slumped in his chair.

McGonagall considered the boy before her for a moment, folding her hands on her knee and giving him an empathetic smile.

“Harry, when you look into the future, whose expectations do you take into consideration?”

“Sorry?” Harry queried in confusion, thick brows drawing together.

“Your life has been measured in the expectations of others, Mr. Potter. The trials and tribulations you experienced were fraught with responsibilities to individual people and eventually the entire fate of the wizarding world at hand. These were undue burdens, and although they have been discarded now, I fear their lingering effects weigh heavily on you.”

“No no I’m much better now. Really, I – ”

“You misunderstand me, Harry,” McGonagall interjected gently. “I am aware that you have grown leaps and bounds. You have dealt with the aftermath admirably. However, I think that shedding that sense of responsibility has been harder for you than you may have noticed.”

“Forgive me, Professor, but I’m still not following.” Harry shifted in his seat, and that sense of being eleven years old came rushing back.

“Glad to see you retain a bit of boyishness, Harry.” McGonagall laughed softly and lifted her teacup to her lips. She took a sip before continuing. “When sorting out the dilemma of what occupation you might choose, I ask that you ignore any tendency to dwell on what people _expect_ you to do. Do not let the opinions of others enter the equation. Do not fret about how many people have spoken of your potential to be a great Auror. Do not worry about what Miss Granger thinks about the time frame of your decision. Look inside yourself for the answer, Mr. Potter. What would _you_ like to do? What would make you happy?”

“Is it really that simple?” Harry sighed and drained the rest of his tea.

“It can be.” McGonagall came out from behind the desk and rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “And remember, you always have a place here at Hogwarts. For whatever you may need from us.”

“Thank you, Professor. I'll think on it.” Harry stood up and smiled back at her. “I’m seeing Draco Malfoy. Er, I _have_ been seeing him for a while now. We’re together.”

Harry’s mouth hung open after he said it. He was pretty sure he’d lost the motor skills necessary to close it again.

_Why did you tell her that?!_

Much to Harry’s astonishment, McGonagall simply canted her head with a knowing smile.

“So you two have finally sorted it out, then. It’s lovely to hear that.”

“But how did you…”

“Come now, Mr. Potter, don’t look so aghast. I’ve never been lacking for observational skills. What is the Muggle phrase? Something about the tension being so thick you could cut it with a knife? I believe that phrase to be very apt in the case of you and Mr. Malfoy.”

“It seems like nearly everyone knew it before I did.”

“Yes, well…there were no shortage of roadblocks for the two of you to find your way to each other. I suppose it makes a great deal of sense that you would come together now, seeing how those obstacles have mostly evaporated. Tell me, how is he doing?” Her features twisted into a mask of concern, and it was at that moment that Harry knew why he had brought the subject of Draco into the conversation.

“He’s great for the most part. He’s…different. Better, but…you were there for me when I went through everything after the war. When I started seeing a mind healer…” Harry trailed off, unsure how to ask what he wanted without going into too much detail. He was certain Draco wouldn’t approve of him recounting his nightmare episode to McGonagall.

“Is Draco having similar problems?” Astute as she was, she gathered Harry’s meaning, even filtered through his verbal stumbling.

“He is, and I think I upset him by trying to force him to talk about it. I wondered if you have advice for how to help someone through that without overstepping?”

“Sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all. Sometimes one needs to simply be present. Let the other person know you are there. Allow them to come to you rather than approaching first. I suspect Mr. Malfoy doesn’t have a lot of experience with leaning on others for support. Do not pressure him, and he will learn what is comfortable for the both of you at his own pace. Trauma is a strange beast, Harry. It can never disappear completely. One only learns the necessary tools to manage it. We add to the arsenal and refine the process, but the experiences that have shaped us are with us for all time. That said, it can fade into the background until it no longer defines who we are.”

“I don’t know if I’m there yet, but I do know it’s possible. I can feel it. Thank you, Professor.” Harry stepped forward, and McGonagall embraced him in a tight hug.

 

***

 

The next morning, Harry thought about Draco as he flipped a piece of French toast in a skillet, pressing the egg-battered bread down into the bubbling butter with a spatula. The bread hissed as it met the heat of the pan, and Harry plotted what he was going to say. McGonagall had given him sage advice, and in the spirit of it, he decided to give Draco another day before bothering him. Harry cooked another slice and heaped both of them on a plate along with a healthy slather of orange marmalade. He settled down onto the couch, picking up a tattered paperback copy of _Big Sur_ with one hand and bringing a forkful of French toast to his mouth with the other. The buzz of his phone made his hand spasm, the bite of bread tumbling onto the denim covering his knee, leaving a sticky smear of marmalade.

“Dammit!”

Harry was about to Accio his wand to clean up the spill, but the light of the phone and the name flashing across it caught his eye. He picked it up to check the texts.

_D: On a scale of 1 to turning me into a ferret, how much are you still cross with me?_

Harry’s sigh of relief was so loud, he startled himself. After going through the ins and outs of the argument countless times, the details on who was right and who was wrong had gotten really fuzzy. He grinned at the reference and typed what he hoped was an acceptable response.

_H: Depends. Are you still a twat? :P_

_D: Haven’t you heard? I’m ALWAYS going to be a twat._

_Yes, but you’re my twat, and I love you._ Harry gulped and ignored the impulse. Best not to rock the boat and definitely not through a text. He sent the first half of the message, leaving off the dangerous sentiment for now.

_D: Glad to hear that’s still the case. :) Can you stop by mine tonight around 8:30? I have something for you._

_H: Of course. I have something for you too._

Harry glanced at the gift in the corner wrapped in shiny blue and silver paper.

 

***

 

Harry knocked on Draco’s door and removed his gloves, bunching them in the pocket of his peacoat.

“Hey!” Draco greeted him brightly, all the conflict of two days ago seemingly forgotten. He was handsome as always but more formally dressed than Harry had seen him in a long time. Tailored charcoal trousers clung to his hips, and the starched lapels of a white buttondown lay over top of his hunter green sweater. “Come in. Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m okay.” Harry set Draco’s present next to the couch and started the interminable unbundling process. Winter had tossed back its frosty mane and planted its enormous feet on the ground to announce it was here to stay. Disrobing now required about ten extra minutes.

“You sure? I made mulled wine. It’s about the only thing I’ve made that hasn’t exploded or turned into charred, tarry bits. Might want to pounce on the opportunity while you can.” Draco flashed him a lopsided grin as he ladled some red liquid from a saucepan into a crystal goblet.

“Well, I guess that is a victory worth celebrating, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded and filled another glass.

“I’m sorry,” Draco abruptly spoke as he handed one of the glasses to Harry. “What I said about my parents…I don’t know why I said it. I don’t feel that way. You have to know I don’t.”

Draco glanced up at him imploringly, and Harry wanted to wrap him in a crushing hug.

“I know. You just said it to piss me off. People do that in arguments. I wasn’t in my finest form that morning either.” Harry took a sip of the wine and hummed in satisfaction, the drink chasing the winter cold out of his bones. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks.” They both looked around the room, a bit of unease still lingering. Draco had hung two strings of white twinkle lights in a scalloped pattern around the room about six inches from the ceiling. The smell of the cloves and orange peel from the wine mingled in the air with pine and something else Harry couldn’t identify. Harry realized it had been weeks since he’d seen Draco’s flat and wondered if all this was for his benefit or if Draco had been bitten by the Christmas bug. For whatever reason, Draco tended to prefer staying over at Harry’s.

“Draco, I’m sorry too. I should have respected that you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“It doesn’t come easy to me,” Draco mumbled as he sat down on one end of the deep maroon couch. Harry sat beside him.

“Talking?”

Draco sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Trust, relying on other people, letting you see me when I’m like _that_ , needing you… _admitting_ that I need you. Take your pick.” Draco took a swallow of wine and leaned his head against the back of the couch. “It’s not always comfortable…the way I feel about you. I…”

“You can say it. Whatever it is, you can say it.” Harry rested a hand on Draco’s bony knee. Draco looked down at the hand and smiled a little sadly.

“I want to preface this by saying I’m not trying to diminish the loss of your parents at all. As shit as things got with my father, I can’t imagine never having gotten the opportunity to know him. It’s an awful thing to be robbed of. That said, I think…you’re more used to this. You’ve had Hermione and Ron and his family and Sirius – ”

Fear flickered across Draco’s eyes at the mention of Sirius, but Harry squeezed his knee and nodded for him to continue.

“I didn’t know what that was like until relatively recently. I’m not used to leaning on anyone. Not in a real way. Crabbe and Goyle were more minions than friends, and Lucius...” Draco’s tongue shaped the name with distaste.

_Merlin, the universe doesn’t just give hints. It really screams, doesn’t it?_ Harry made a note to send McGonagall a thank you gift.

“Calling him Lucius now?” Harry quietly asked.

“Well, that’s his fucking name, isn’t it? Appropriately pompous and English sounding, don’t you think? Lu-ci-us. Even the syllables sound like they’re passing judgment as they leave your lips. Love wasn’t unconditional with him. It's almost funny…being surrounded by so much and yet still being at a deficit…” Draco laughed, a bitter, clipped sound, and took another sip of wine. “I keep thinking that you’ll leave at the first sign of trouble.”

“So you leave first.” Harry set his wine down on the coffee table and put his arm around Draco. “We sort of have a pattern, don’t we?”

“We’ve always had a pattern, Harry. The whole thing might have turned ninety degrees, but it’s still the gears of the same machine. Humans are depressingly predictable creatures.”

“You’re so much wiser than me sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Draco quirked an eyebrow, the left side of his mouth twitching upward.

“Fuck off.” Harry shoved his shoulder into Draco’s. “Draco, I already told you. I’m not going to punish you for not being perfect.”

“I don’t want to be maintenance for you. I don’t want being with me to feel like _work_.” The naked pain on Draco’s face was striking. Despite how far they’d come, these words were entirely unexpected. When they were children, Draco had appeared to thrive on being difficult, reveled in it even. To have him openly ruminating on how to be more accommodating was an experience that felt almost hallucinatory.

“What the hell are you on about, Draco? Do you forget that we went through the same war? People in relationships take care of each other. That’s what they do. Someday I’ll be depressed or sick or moody or whatnot, and it’ll be your turn. I would never blame you for something like what happened a few nights ago. You can lean on me as much as you need. I don’t want you go through anything alone. If you _need_ to be alone, I get that. I won’t push next time, but I need you to know that you don’t _have_ to run away…not if you don’t want to.” Harry rubbed the back of Draco’s neck, massaging the muscles and playing with the fine hair at the nape.

“But when is your turn coming?! I mean blimey, when you're raised as patrician as I was you don't cry often. But when I do, you can be bloody well sure Harry Potter will be there to witness it.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s bothering you! You need me to be more difficult so you can complain?” Harry laughed and bent down to grab his wine.

“Yes!” Draco laughed back. “How do you it?! You just coast. You seem so _even_ all the time.”

“First off, it’s fine to cry in front of me. I’m not Lucius. I won’t judge you or treat you like you’re feeble. As for the other thing, I’m a fucking _mess_ , Draco. I spend my days doing fuck all but spotty volunteer work and hanging out with you and my friends because the thought of doing more makes me feel like someone’s squeezing my lungs in a vise. I guarantee I will breakdown in your presence at some point. It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened yet. You said you see a therapist? I saw a mind healer for the better part of a year’s time. I didn’t get here on my own either. I was far from sorted when I came out of the rubble of that battle. I can tell you more about it, if you like?”

“I would. Might make me feel like we’ve evened the playing field.”

“Love isn’t a Quidditch game, Draco. You shouldn’t keep score.” Harry chuckled and then his face froze as he realized what he’d said.

“Love?” Draco whispered, eyes glued to his lap.

“Oh. Well…”

_This was not the perfectly planned romantic confession I was hoping for._

Harry flushed as he felt Draco’s eyes scrutinizing him. _Fuck it._

“Yes…I love you, Draco.”

“Oh…” The word was more an exhalation than actual language, Draco’s cheeks tinting pink as he drained his wine glass and shakily set it down on the table. “You can’t say that, Potter.”

“Why?” Harry sat up straighter, the lines of his face going tense. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

“You can’t just carelessly throw around a word like that.” Draco’s voice was tight and wrought with emotion. Draco wasn’t looking at him, but Harry could see that his eyes were moist.

“I’m not. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it. When I first saw your scars, I thought you were about to say it, and it terrified me. And then I thought the words again the night of Ruby’s party, and I’m not going to lie, it scared the shit out of me. But then you came in from the cold and you looked at me…” Harry thought it wise to leave off the eavesdropping portion of the evening. “And it wasn’t so scary anymore. Then I took you home and you were lying on your back in my bed and I wanted you _so_ much. I wanted you for always. It’s all I could think about. My mind was filled to the brim with that and nothing else, and it’s been that way ever since.”

“That’s a grand total of three days acceptance, Harry,” Draco sounded hopeful and weary all at once. He risked a glance in Harry’s direction. When their eyes met, Draco’s breath caught in his chest like it was far too much to handle.

“I love you, Draco Malfoy. Flaws and fucked up history and all. I love all of you.” Harry clasped Draco’s face between his hands and stared back at him unwaveringly.

“You better mean that.” Draco’s expression broke from concern into a slow smile, his eyes silvery and soft.

“I do.” Green eyes reflected back into grey, and their lips met, a leisurely slide, tentative like it was the first time.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Harry Potter. Do you know that?” Draco ran his hands through Harry’s messy curls, never breaking his gaze.

Harry answered by sealing their lips together, kissing the words from his mouth, determined to never let Draco doubt his love ever again. Draco teased Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth. With a hand in the middle of his chest, he pushed Harry against the back of the couch and straddled his lap. Harry loved nothing more than having Draco on top of him like this, loved to run his hands along his sinewy thighs and the curve of his arse as Draco bucked his hips and hungrily licked into his mouth.

Draco pulled back, grey eyes suddenly pensive.

"Whatever direction you decide to take your life, promise me it won't involve people who carelessly offer your life up for betting like you're a pony bred for the races. You've been subservient for long enough. From now on, your life should belong to _you_."

"Merlin, I owe McGonagall several fruit baskets..." Harry muttered under his breath.

Draco shot him a puzzled look, and Harry shook his head.

"Nothing. I'm just lucky to have you." Harry kissed him and then jerked back when he noticed the gleam of Christmas lights reflecting off wrapping paper in his periphery. "Oh, fuck! I forgot about your present!"

"Ah!" Draco untangled his legs from Harry's lap and hopped into the bedroom, reappearing a few seconds later with a small, rectangular package under his arm and handing it to Harry. It was covered in thick, red and gold rice paper.

"You wrapped it in Gryffindor colors." Harry waggled his eyebrows as he picked his gift up off the floor and handed it to Draco.

"Shut up and open it, Potter."

Harry slid a finger beneath the taped folds of the textured paper to reveal a _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ DVD set.

"So you know all those abominable old horror films you like? Turns out there's this American show where they watch and heckle them the whole time. The premise is some Muggle nonsense that's best disregarded unless you want your brain to explode from the absurdity, but it's really funny once you get past that. And since you're always annoyingly making your own commentary while we watch these pieces of cinematic trash, I thought you might like it." Draco fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he waited for Harry's reaction, eyes downcast. It made Harry smile. Few things were as irresistible as a nervous, sentimental Draco.

" _The Creeping Terror_ is on here! That's the first film we watched together." Harry's smile stretched so wide, he was sure he looked demented. "Thank you. This is a brilliant gift."

"You're welcome." Draco returned the smile a little bashfully as he added, "There's a treacle tart in the fridge for you too."

"That's really lovely of you, but I do hope it doesn't have anything to do with the aforementioned charred, tarry bits." Harry laughed and took a sip of wine.

"It _did_ when I made the unfortunate attempt of crafting one myself, but I relented and bought one instead of trying again." Draco grimaced with a short little shake of his head.

"You tried to make one for me?" Harry could feel his eyes growing starry with wonderment as he gazed at a blushing Draco.

"Yes yes, I tried to cook. Quit being a sap or I'll be forced to cut this evening short as I'll be too busy vomiting." Draco began to unwrap the silver and blue package on his lap, and it was Harry's turn to be flustered.

"I got the Slowdive shirt from that really cool vintage shop Ruby loves, and I thought...well, since it's the reason we started talking again and it looked like it would fit you...but then I got worried a Malfoy wouldn't want second hand clothes so I picked up the dress shirt. I mean not that I think you're still like that obviously, but I don't know I just got worried so - "

Draco shut him up with a fierce kiss, winding his tongue with Harry's when his hot mouth opened up to receive him.

"It's amazing. You didn't have to get me the other shirt. I would have loved just this, but it's marvelous too. Slytherin green." Draco grinned and peppered Harry's cheek and neck with kisses, his long fingers stroking the fabric of his gift. "I'm really lucky to have you too, Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judging from what ground I have left to cover, I think we're 1-2 chapter from the end, lovelies! I hope you've been enjoying it as much as I have.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited this chapter until the words have blurred together so I'm just surrendering it to the jaws of AO3 lest I go on altering things for the rest of my life lol. Enjoy some Christmas in June and a little bit of Draco POV. :) Reminder that it's unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my own!

Harry was nestled against the arm of the couch, legs spread with Draco positioned between them, his back flush against Harry’s chest. The riffs from Mike Nelson and his two robot companions contained a lot of pop culture references Harry was ignorant of, but it moved fast enough that there was always a new joke to deconstruct a few seconds later. The whimsical humor came across even when the references didn’t, and Harry could already tell it was going to be a new favorite. It was damn near impossible to feel shitty when Tom Servo was modeling Revolutionary War garb and calling Mike a Tory in an atrocious British accent.

"Pardon me, but how the fuck do you talk to a Muggle therapist about what happened to you? I know about doctor-patient confidentiality, but I imagine it doesn't protect against them locking you up when you start rambling about magic wands and Death Eaters." Harry lifted Draco’s jumper a couple inches to run his hand along the trail of wispy blond hair below his bellybutton, and Draco arched back, stretching to tempt his hand further down. Harry smiled and kissed the spot below Draco's ear.

"I talk in code." Tom Servo, the little robot with dangly arms whose head was made from the empty, globular part of a gumball machine shouted 'Earth Girls are Greasy!' at the screen as the titular character of _The Creeping Terror_ swallowed a girl whole. Harry laughed, and Draco made a confused grunt.

"They're referencing Earth Girls are Easy, Draco. It's an American movie from the 80s," Harry explained. "But _what_ do you tell her? That you were initiated into a gang and chosen to kill an enemy to prove your allegiance? That you were a mafia henchmen?"

“A variation of that." Draco shrugged and crossed his arms.

"Really?!"

"It works well enough. I have a creepy skull and snake tattoo, and I _was_ tasked to kill someone. It's a very apt false narrative. Barely even a lie, really." Draco sighed, the sharp line of his jaw tensing, and Harry took the hint to change the subject.

Even with the heavier issues punctuating the conversation, the evening thrummed with the magic of those vital three words that were now out in the open. Neither of them remarked on how much it meant, how all the years of rivalry, both petty and poignant, had culminated in this beautiful thing, exquisite in all its flawed splendor. It almost felt surreptitious, this giddiness permeating the air, like speaking of it might tip the intensity into territory that would nearly ache in its sincerity. Harry wanted this notion of invincibility to endure as long as possible and suspected Draco did as well. So he tamped down the urge to gush and kept holding Draco close, glowing with the knowledge that he could now tell Draco he loved him any time he wanted to.

The cogs of Harry's mind performed a sedate turn as he thought about what Draco had said about his future. Hearing two people who loved him express unmitigated concern for his well-being as _Harry_ instead of dwelling on the pressure of living up to the moniker of the Boy Who Lived had ebbed the anxiety. He was certain it would eventually be back with a vengeance but figured he should seize the chance to think about it while he was existing in a rare stress-free zone.

"Do you ever think about taking your NEWTs? You were always top of our class, right behind Hermione."

"God, Potter, you aren't operating within the light-hearted tonight, are you?"

"I guess. I don't feel as worried about it all now, but it's still something I want to figure out. I was curious if you'd been thinking about it too, but we don't have to talk about it."

"No, it's okay. I want to make sure _you’re_ okay.” Draco turned halfway around in Harry's arms to peer into his green eyes for any sign of distress. "There is a tiny part of me that wants to invoke your promise not to push me, but then I lose all rights to grill you in return, don't I?"

Harry nodded with a victorious smile.

"Alright, fuck...I don't know, Harry. It would certainly give me more options, but I can't stomach the thought, honestly. My therapist would probably tell me that's a sign that I need to conquer it, but I'm content with avoidance for now. Seems a bit dismal to take them so late, anyway." Draco rotated his body until he was curved around Harry's side, arm draped across his middle.

"Oh yes, because you're so very ancient. The ripe old age of nineteen." Harry kissed the top of his head and gave Draco's underarm a playful pinch.

“Don’t you remember? I’m a Dickensian widow.” Draco's tone turned somber as he burrowed into Harry's neck. "I don't _feel_ nineteen. Do you?"

Harry made a noise of weighted amusement in the back of his throat.

"No. Sometimes I feel as old as Dumbledore was when I met him."

Draco stiffened in Harry’s arms.

"I’m about to say something that might piss you off."

"When has that stopped you before?"

Draco rolled his eyes and swatted at Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s true!” Harry chuckled and squeezed Draco’s slim waist. “Go ahead.”

“I think Dumbledore was manipulative. I’m not saying he didn’t care about you, but he _used_ you, dangled you like bait and played Russian roulette with your life year after year.” Draco’s eyes went fiery, his mouth quivering in disgust. “And why in Merlin’s name did he let you live with the _Dursleys_? The omniscient fucking wizard extraordinaire had to have known they treated you like a servant. Why didn’t he do anything if he loved you so bloody much?! Or later, when you became an honorary Weasley, why couldn’t you have stayed there? _Anywhere_ else!”

Harry’s eyes went wide, involuntarily scooting back as he loosened his hold on Draco. It was an unforeseen outburst to witness, like being doused with ice water. Draco sat up and gave Harry a few inches of space.

“I’m sorry.” A wave of regret seemed to pass over Malfoy, his shoulders no longer drawn up tight, the line of his mouth softer. His voice grew quieter. “I hate thinking about you going back there every summer. What’s the point of making you suffer like that? Especially considering everything you did for everyone.”

Harry hardly knew how to respond. It was a topic he had reflected on after the war, but he wasn’t aware that Draco had been affected by it. When he told him about the Dursleys, he’d kept it brief, and Draco hadn’t reacted in any noteworthy way. He thought back on the first time he introduced the matter into conversation with McGonagall. His palms had been sweating as he deliberated about what to say and how best to say it. It had sounded like such an offensive viewpoint as it ambled through the tracts of his mind, but McGonagall had been tender and empathetic. What followed was a frank discussion on how even the greatest and most revered of people can be flawed, sometimes even _deeply_ flawed. While that can be a rude awakening, it’s also one of life’s most heartening, universal equalizers. The bad doesn’t negate the good. However, Harry didn’t want to give Draco the satisfaction of knowing that McGonagall agreed with him to an extent.  

“I’ve thought about this a lot, actually. I love Dumbledore and always will, but you sort of see the adults from your childhood in a new light when you’re older. There are quite a few factors you notice in retrospect that you didn’t pick up on when you were a kid.”

“Not to mention you used to be about as observant as a doorstop.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean, Draco.” Harry heaved a careworn sigh, and Draco made a dour sound deep in his throat.

“Yeah, I do. That idea nicely sums up both of our lives, doesn’t it?”

Harry gave Draco a loaded half-smile, his eyes heavy with everything that question implied.

“The reason I was with the Dursleys is because of a charm Dumbledore placed on me. The way it worked is that the protection from my mother was transferred to Aunt Petunia when she accepted responsibility for me. So as long as I was living there, Voldemort couldn’t touch me. I – ”

“Bollocks! You were attacked by Dementors at a fucking park right by there so fat lot of good that spell did unless you never left the house the whole summer. And I-I-” Draco was stuttering, his neck breaking out into angry red splotches, his breath coming out in ragged puffs, “I _refuse_ to believe you wouldn’t have been safer in the company of a bunch of wizards who knew how to handle magical threats. I refuse to believe that in _all_ the time you were at Hogwarts, no one could put their thick heads together to devise something better than a blood protection charm probably made on the spot years ago.”

“I didn’t know it bothered you so much,” Harry admitted with a quizzical lilt. He moved closer and leaned his head against Draco’s shoulder. “When I got older and could do more magic, they tread more lightly around me. Living there wasn’t as bad as it was when I was younger.”

“I may or may not have revenge fantasies about hunting down the Dursleys and hexing them into hideous deformity.” Draco wound his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Really?” Harry looked up at him with a delighted grin. “What’s your favorite one?”

“Knee reversal with a spot of _Engorgio Skullus._ Would make for an appropriately repugnant visual so all the Muggle children would shout ‘dear god, what is that thing’ as their mutilated bodies hobbled past,” He informed Harry with a devious smirk.

“You stole that line from _The Princess Bride_.” Harry’s eyes swept over Draco’s face fondly, an odd sense of pride coursing through him at the thought of Draco retaliating against his aunt and uncle for their mistreatment of him.

“I only steal from the best.”

Harry rubbed his eyes beneath the wire frames of his glasses.

“I don’t know, Draco…Albus was a complicated man, but I think he always did what he thought was best.”

Draco sighed and shook his head.

“Think of it this way. Your mother loves you. And you _believe_ she loves you, right? I doubt she ever wanted any harm to come to you, but she still made choices that hurt you, didn’t she? It’s complicated. These things aren’t black and white.”

“You’re right,” Draco conceded with a groan and flopped into the back of the couch like it pained him to agree. “But I still think Dumbledore wasn’t the shining example of wizardkind everyone has immortalized him to be. And I will continue to have elaborate revenge fantasies about hexing the Dursleys and subjecting them to long, torturous speeches about their wrongdoings.”

“You’re well within your rights.” Harry kissed Draco’s cheek and the corner of his jaw. “But just like I don’t know everything that happened between you and your family, you don’t know everything about my relationship with Dumbledore. You think I’ve never thought about what I would do to your father, given the chance?”

“My hero,” Draco sang in a very bad imitation of a Southern belle. “And I do mean _mine_ and no one else’s. I meant what I said, you know. If you choose a perilous profession and die in a meaningless quest to save some inconsequential wizards, I swear to Merlin I will find a way to resurrect you so I can kill you myself for being a thoughtless, reckless git.”  

“I love you too, Draco,” Harry professed with a laugh. “I solemnly swear not to make any foolhardy decisions where my future purpose in life is concerned.”

“Is that so?” Draco squinted skeptically.

“It is.” Harry kept on looking at him like he was the most remarkable creature in the world. “I’ve had a big enough dose of danger. I don’t want any more.”

“Good because I love you too much to lose you, Harry.” Harry’s skin felt like it was made of live wires sparking every cell alight. Draco was gazing back at him like he couldn’t believe his luck, like he had stumbled upon an anomalous treasure and intended to clutch it to his chest for safe-keeping for the rest of his days on this planet. The profundity of this night was something Harry knew he would hold aloft in his memory forever. The spiced wine coating his tongue, the blaze of passion behind Draco’s eyes, the ineffable flood of affection and comfort he felt radiating from Draco. It was a sensation Harry knew Draco could feel emanating off him too. Neither of them questioned their relationship at that moment. Their minds weren’t sentenced to sorting through the usual muck of past baggage and future anxiety. It was a blissfully carefree evening where even the raising of questions like they had just exchanged felt safe and devoid of trepidation for now. Harry thought they both deserved badges of adulthood accomplishment.

The only dark spot was a twinge of guilt that Harry felt from the fact that he hadn’t yet told Draco about his brief foray into the afterlife. Judging from how fervently he felt about the prospect of Harry putting himself in harm’s way again, Harry had no doubt that Draco would want to know. But it was that certainty that made it even harder to disrupt the idyllic mood. He would tell him. Someday. But not right now.

"What would you do if you could do anything? Money and circumstances are no object, an absolute sky is the limit scenario. It doesn't have to be a career, just _anything_ with your life. The boundless fulfillment of your desires." Draco turned toward Harry and brought his knees to his chest, lanky arms folding around them.  

Harry thought for a minute, laughing as Crow, the gold robot with the mouth made out of a bowling pin made a joke about the inept, superfluous narrator of the film.

"I want to travel. I haven’t really been anywhere, not even all of the UK, and there’s so much out there. New York, Rome, Tokyo, it seems a shame to stay put when the world is so huge." Harry was taken aback at how easily the answer came, as though he only needed someone to truly ask in order for him to know. It was a humble yearning, not very detailed or exciting, but Harry guessed from the way Draco beamed at him that it was a satisfactory answer.

"I agree. It would do your plebeian self some good to experience the rest of the globe," Draco teased, cocking a pale brow.

"What about you? I'm sure you won't be in Muggle London forever, and you've never struck me as someone who could stay idle for long."

"Please, I’m a man of means. I was bred for leisure." It sounded inauthentic to Harry’s ears. There was a continuous agitation that pulsed through Draco, an itch that skidded under his veins and made him want to break out into a run at a moment’s notice. Harry could always sense it although he was sure Draco didn’t think he could. The need to immerse oneself in time-consuming pursuits, to apply his mental prowess toward the solving of complex problems, be it in a potions lab or somewhere Muggle and uncharted, was catching up to him. Harry suspected a need to stave off the turbulent thoughts that marched through Draco’s brain at a feverish pace was part of the impetus for that. You keep occupied, you don’t have time to fall apart.

"You were bred for a lot of things that disagree with your disposition."

“Touché. I’m waiting for inspiration to strike, Potter. Taking my time instead of forcing an agenda."

They both fell silent and watched Mike Nelson and the robots of MST3K mock the filmmaking disaster that was _The Creeping Terror_ for a few minutes.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Promise you’ll call me if it gets to be too much at the manor. Or even if it doesn’t. Just let me know how you’re doing, okay?”

“I will. I promise.” Draco drew Harry in for a kiss and snuggled back against his chest, pulling a fluffy blanket down from the back of the couch and wrapping it around them both. Harry tried to gather some excitement for his impending trip to the Burrow, but with Draco’s hair tickling his neck and the heat of his body against Harry’s torso, he couldn’t help but wish they were spending Christmas together on that couch.

 

***

 

The destruction of the Burrow wasn’t just the destruction of a building. It was the demolition of overstuffed ovens emitting smells of meat pies and cake and roasted turkey on Christmas Eve, the dissolution of hurried feet on creaking steps and shouted greetings across floors, the end of a home filled with that specific brand of chaotic love that characterized Harry’s surrogate family. It was the shading of technicolor into monochrome and the erasure of memories. The rebuilding of that house symbolized so much more than the raising of beams secured to floorboards and the hammering of shingles to a rooftop. It was the rebuilding of a life, and the house was never more teeming with that life than it was around the Christmas holiday. Even though a portion of his heart tugged toward Draco and how he was doing at that very moment, Harry was also elated to be in that house surrounded by the bustle of holiday preparation and familiar smells, effulgent color, and laughing faces.

“Harry, you’ve arrived! Would like some tea? There’s a fresh batch of pies just out of the oven. Let me get you one.” Molly embraced Harry warmly, and Arthur appeared behind her.

“Let the boy get settled first, Molly! Let’s have a look at you.” Arthur held him by the shoulders and looked him up and down. “Who is this grown man and what have you done with the knobby-kneed boy I once knew?”

“It’s great to see you, Arthur,” Harry laughed, unwinding the Gryffindor scarf from around his neck and removing his black beanie to free his unruly tresses. “Are Hermione and Ron here yet?”

“Arrived a couple hours ago. Last I checked, Ron was quizzing Charlie about the dragons on the reserve while Hermione tried and failed not to look bored.” Molly winked and handed Harry a cup of tea and a small meat pie.

“And let me guess, Ron was completely oblivious to her pointed looks?”

“You know them all too well.” Molly’s cheerful countenance faded as her mouth twitched in hesitancy. A moment later, she nodded to herself as though a decision had been made. “I hope you don’t mind, Harry, but Ron spilled the news to us.”

“Earned him quite the withering look from Hermione too,” Arthur chimed in as he poured himself a cup of tea.

“Sorry, what news exactly?” Harry frowned with a tilt of his head, and Molly and Arthur exchanged mildly concerned glances.

“About you and the Malfoy boy, dear,” Molly said cautiously.

“Oh…” Harry blushed and took a sip of tea, looking over his shoulder toward the voices trailing in from the living room.

“How is he doing? Ron said he’s…” Molly paused to consider her words as she layered the pies on a shiny metal serving tray, “overcome a lot of what he’s been through.”

“He has. He’s doing really well, and – we _work_. I’m sure it doesn’t make a lot of sense to everyone, but we do.” Harry smiled in spite of his doubts about whether or not Ron’s parents would accept his relationship with Draco.

“I’ll admit it was a bit of a shock at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I could picture it. All that matters is that you’re happy. Are you happy, Harry?” Molly put the last miniature pie in the middle of the makeshift pyramid on the serving tray and cupped Harry’s cheek. She was wearing that expression of maternal affection that Harry knew so well, and it warmed his heart.

“I am. More than I’ve been in a long time.” Harry’s smile widened, and Molly and Arthur smiled back.

“Overjoyed to hear it, Harry. And I do hope you know that any friend of yours is always welcome in our home.” Arthur came around Harry’s side and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Although it was wonderful to hear, Harry’s blush deepened at the attention. He looked down at the teacup in his hand, feeling a bit like the boy everyone stares at when he comes bursting through the classroom door fifteen minutes late.

“Well, let’s stop embarrassing you and join the rest of the family, eh?” Arthur gave his shoulder one more lingering pat before turning to walk into the living room.

“Harry!” A chorus of gleeful voices greeted him as he entered the brightly lit room. There was a blazing fire alive in the hearth and an assortment of treats and appetizers strewn about the table in front of it.

Charlie clapped him on the back and handed him a lightly smoking mug of Firewhisky. Holidays at the Weasley house always resulted in Harry being stuffed to the gills with food and drink until he couldn’t move. As soon as his hands were emptied, a replenished drink and a new pastry would appear before him. Harry settled next to Ron on the puffy green sofa and met Hermione’s exasperated eyes as Ron animatedly asked Charlie if he’d ever ridden the Hungarian Horntail on the sanctuary. She mouthed “riveting conversation,” and Harry chuckled. For a moment, surrounded by bountiful food and friends, people he could be himself around without expectation, he forgot to obsessively check his phone for messages from Draco.

 

***

 

Malfoy Manor felt more like a mausoleum than home to Draco. It was like a memory cracking around the edges, desperately holding onto some image of what his family name used to mean as it cascaded to the floor in flaky remnants to be carried away on the wind. Though the structure was intact, everything about the atmosphere of it suggested dilapidation. Draco thought he must be imagining the musty scent and the dank air because nothing about the state of the interior indicated that, but, real or not, the smell drifted into his nose and fashioned the muscles of his face into the sneer he used to wear perpetually. Pleasant associations had dissolved and left nightmares in their wake.

Narcissa Malfoy had trouble letting go of the smokescreen of past grandeur. Her elegant fingers, long and finely formed like her son’s, gripped onto the last vestige of a life she had grown accustomed to, a life she had devoted herself to. Because no matter how misguided that devotion may have turned in the end, there were still decades of tradition, breeding, and a curated marriage that were gone, and that loss had to be reckoned with. To Narcissa, the transition appeared to be overnight regardless of how strong the universe’s forewarning may have been. As much as we can spot the slow degradation in hindsight, as possible as it is to pinpoint the pivots in our destinies like messy blots of ink marring graceful script on thick parchment, humans have a way of turning a blind eye up until the very moment the house of cards collapses. After all, self-preservation was a valued and well-honed trait in the Malfoy family.

Draco’s thoughts sometimes drifted to what his parents had been like before him. Were they madly in love? Young, lustful and blushing like he now was with Harry? It was so hard to conjure in his mind’s eye. Neither of his parents had been very open about sharing details of their courtship. It was hardly the sort of discussion pureblood parents would have with a child. Consequently, Draco’s musings moved to an examination of their interactions in the years he _had_ known them, but that didn’t prove to contain many useful clues either. Too much had been lost to piece together what had been before.

However, as more time passed, fragments of memory bobbed to the surface and snippets of old conversations Draco had witnessed between the two of them took on a different context. Some of those shards of past events held hints of love and tenderness, while others showed the beginnings of a gap in understanding, a breakdown of communication and a widening differential of ideals that of course would eventually result in the wreckage he knew all too well. _That_ was a portion of his family’s history he had no trouble recalling. He would have been thankful for a few memory blackouts of that era, but sadly no god or force of nature seemed to want to grant him a merciful pardon. He supposed that was for the best. Better not to forget the horrors and mistakes of the past. It made it easier to remember how not to repeat them, easier not to dismiss their severity and excuse them away as he might the lesser youthful indiscretions of taunting his peers.

He knew Harry would tell him not to chastise himself forever. Harry would tell him that he deserved absolution because he was a child who had no choice and who was doing everything in his power to put back together what was left of his life, take charge, and build a new one. His therapist would say the same, and Draco tried to heed the advice. He tried to move on and consider penance paid, to separate himself from what and who he once was. He tried to remind himself that he wasn’t his father, that he wasn’t the sum of his trauma, and that he wasn’t still the same sniveling coward.

Some days it worked. Some days it really, really didn’t. Some days Draco wanted nothing more than to be punished forever and felt like he didn’t deserve anything more than that. Being in the manor and walking its tarnished halls, the features that were once majestic now turned grotesque, it was hard not to give in to the latter. It was nearly impossible to feel whole and unbroken and _good_ when the molecules of every room held the vibrations of so many people and traumatic events, suspended in time forever no matter how invisible they were to the naked eye.

Draco had been trying to explain this to his mother without plunging her into a web of guilt, but it was a tricky balance. He didn’t want her to personalize it and feel responsible, but how could he ask that of her when he couldn’t separate it himself?

“It’s not you, mother. It’s this house. It’s – ” _Depressing, suffocating, like having my viscera ripped from my body and hung on the outside like macabre jewelry._ Draco inhaled sharply and tilted his head back against the antique chesterfield sofa, praying water cohesion would kick in and suck the tears into the wells behind his eyes. Christ, when did he become a person who _weeps_? He knew he was supposed to count that as a marked achievement in personal growth, but a part of him was always appalled at the presence of that prickling in the corners of his eyes, the quavering in his chest as his lungs stuttered like they’d forgotten how to draw in air, and the hot sting as his body expelled the tension in rivulets down his cheeks. It was a foreign sensation he constantly had to fight to accept. Crying had been one of the surefire ways to earn Lucius’s scorn, and while he tried to use that knowledge as rebellious fuel for why he _should_ let go, he didn’t always win. He chose the most delicate, least offensive word he could think of to describe his feelings, “ _challenging_ to be here and remember everything that happened during the war.”

Narcissa was seated next to him. Her cerulean eyes fell to her lap, lips trembling as she tried to disguise her own emotions.

“I know, but it’s your _home_ , Draco.” Her inflection was fragile, not the self-possessed timbre Draco had grown up with. He reached out to hold one of her ivory hands.

“It _was_ ,” Draco correctly reluctantly, “but it’s not anymore. I know that hurts to hear, and I’m sorry for that, but it’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is. I didn’t protect you like I should have. I _knew_ it. I had Severus make that vow because I didn’t want you to...” Tears leaked out of the corner of Narcissa’s eyes, gliding down her slightly reddened cheeks, and Draco squeezed her hand.

“Mum, stop torturing yourself. Blame father if you want to blame anyone.” Draco’s eyes wandered over to the crackling fire and the bare space above the mantle where the portrait of the three of them used to hang. If he squinted, he thought he could make out the dusty black edges a frame leaves behind after many years on the wall.

“I do,” Draco muttered darkly.

“It doesn’t feel any better to blame him though, does it?” Narcissa lifted her head to meet her son’s eyes, the pain written in the lines of her face as she gazed at him with dejected eyes.

Draco didn’t answer, only swallowed audibly, his throat suddenly parched.

“So where does this leave us, Draco? You won’t come here and I can’t go to London to see you?”

“You can see me.”

“When you left, you made it perfectly clear I wasn’t wanted,” Pain ebbed into the pitch of her voice, her words unsteady, and it made Draco’s heart feel like lead.

“I needed space at the time. Distance from all this,” Draco waved a hand around the room, “But if you want to come see me now, that’s okay.”

“Really?” Her pale blue eyes lit up as she dabbed at them with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Yes, of course. I love you, mum. I don’t want you to stay away.” Draco smiled, the sadness melting away.

“I love you too, Draco.” They embraced, and Draco’s world felt a little less fractured.

“Will you hold it against me if I leave after Christmas? I know I originally planned to stay a couple more days…” Draco looked down shyly at his hands.

“No no, you should spend some holiday time with your friends and…with your boyfriend as well. I’m sure he’s a little sad not to be with you at Christmas.” Narcissa smiled, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s too preoccupied to miss me.” Draco blushed and averted his eyes.

“I doubt that very much. You’re very missable. You’ll invite him to meet me when I visit, won’t you?”

“Mother, you’ve _met_ him.” Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, playing the part of the petulant teenager.

“Don’t be evasive, Draco. This is _different_ , and you know it.” Narcissa laughed and fondly stroked Draco’s hair.

“He might not want to.” Draco shrugged, but Narcissa shot him a knowing, sidewise glance as if to say _we both know Potter, and that is unequivocally NOT true._ Draco heaved a resigned sigh and nodded. “Yeah, sure. You can meet him.”

“Thank you. I look forward to it.” Narcissa leaned in to kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair. Draco put on a show of balking at the touch and arranging his hair back into place, but truthfully, he didn’t feel too old for it. Every moment he was allowed to have his mother in his life was a precious one, a reminder that had events gone awry, had they altered a quarter turn in the hands of fate, they might not have gotten this time together ever again. It was a gift even if it was bestowed inside the vast, dark rooms of that lonely house.

 

***

 

After dinner, Draco retired to his room only to experience the return of the walls closing in, the claustrophobia intensifying until he felt like he’d been injected with a paralytic. Attempting to sleep in that bed was akin to surrendering to the abyss, never to resurface again. He was a boat adrift at sea, lost in the brutality of the ocean without a compass or a map to steer him back to land. The silk of his sheets was no longer a velvety comfort, his limbs strangled by the twists of fabric as he struggled to find a position that would quell this asphyxiating feeling.

He turned his head and stared at his phone intently from where it lay less than a foot away from him. Draco picked it up with shaking hands and set it down again. He repeated the action twice more before relenting and calling the only person he wanted to see at that moment.

 

***

 

Harry joined Charlie outside and sat on the back stoop, marveling at the pristine blanket of stars in the sky. He loved metropolitan life, loved the wide access to all the Muggle culture he adored, but there was something to be said for a clear view of the twinkling constellations against a stark black night sky. There was no substitute for that wondrous sight.

“It’s nice to have another rainbow sheep in the family although I think your label-less embrace of the ‘q word’ has thrown mum and dad for a loop. Very modern of you.” Charlie winked and took a sip from his cup of mulled wine. Harry laughed and breathed in a hearty lungful of the crisp country air. It was a frosty evening, but Harry was warm from the Firewhisky, wine, and food in his stomach. He was residing on exactly the right side of full and tipsy. A few stray snowflakes lazily drifted down from above, layering atop the two inch thick covering of snow that painted the surrounding land white. It wasn’t the impressive Christmas snowfall he’d been hoping for, but it was still pretty.

“And Hermione taught me what heteronormative means. Add that into the mix, and I think I’m ready to take a queer theory course at Oxford.”

“And you have your first bbooyyffrriieenndd,” Charlie drawled, tongue loosened a bit from alcohol. He poked Harry with his elbow, ever the honorary older brother.

“Merlin, Charlie, aren’t you supposed to save this kind of ribbing for Ron? I should be exempt! I’m not _really_ a Weasley.” Harry laughed again and took a small sip of wine.

“You’re a bonafide Weasley, sir! I wouldn’t be surprised if you sprout red hair eventually.”

“I hope everyone’s okay with it…the Malfoy part of it, I mean. I _think_ they are, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. Ron came round although he still doesn’t understand the appeal.”

“You worry too much, Harry. We all know Ron is painfully straight so of _course_ he can’t see that your boyfriend is an enviably gorgeous blond twink with legs for days.”

Harry spewed wine onto the sprinkling of snow beside the wooden steps.

“Dear _god_ , I wish Ron had been here to hear that!” Harry giggled and covered his mouth with his free hand.

“I’ll be sure to repeat it to him tomorrow. We’ll see if we can make his jaw actually touch the floor.” Charlie laughed and clinked his cup to Harry’s.

“Please do.” Harry smiled, his cheeks flushing with the memory of Draco’s intense grey eyes and his sly grin. He had half a mind to text him to say _guess what Charlie Weasley thinks about you_ , but thought better of it. Draco, the man who was inordinately fond of reminding Harry how incredibly desirable his body was, did not need any more ego inflation. Harry looked at Charlie, his smile broadening. “He really is beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Merlin, yes! Not that that’s what matters the most, but you’re the only one I can ogle the same sex with so,” Charlie waved his mug as though in salute to their mutual queerness.

“Solidarity.” Harry raised his cup and took a swig.

“Solidarity!” Charlie agreed with gusto, the dark red liquid sloshing over the rim of his cup as he raised it.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, enveloped by that utter stillness unique to the countryside. Harry pondered what Draco’s childhood had been like, if he missed living on expansive land, freely roaming lush acres in solitude. Harry didn’t know much about what the grounds of the manor looked like, whether or not they had owned animals or gardens that bore fruit for eating instead of existing for aesthetic benefit. He plucked his phone from his coat pocket, wistfully wishing Draco was here with him. His screen lit up to display several messages.

_D: I know this will fall on deaf, mulish ears, but for the love of Merlin, please ignore that voicemail._

_D: I can FEEL you about to totally disregard my request. DON’T._

“Fuck! I have to go.” Harry stood up so quickly he nearly knocked Charlie over. The other man gave him a puzzled look.

“I told Draco to call me if…I just have to call him back,” Harry explained, already halfway through the back door.

“Is everything okay?” Charlie stood up to join him, concern washing over his handsome features.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back in a bit.” Harry offered him a brief smile and rushed to the back of the house and up the stairs, paying no mind to the confused glances the rest of the Weasley clan cast his way.

 

***

 

Draco collected himself as best he could before answering the call, taking several measured breaths and combing his fingers through his hair as though Harry could sense his physical disarray through the phone.

“I told you not to listen to it.” Draco tried to imbue the words with some bite, but to his dismay, they came out weary, bogged down by post-anxiety attack fatigue.

“Draco, I’m so sorry I didn’t pick up. I didn’t hear my phone. It’s not the quietest house around the holidays – or ever, really.” Harry’s voice filtered in through the phone’s speaker, and it sounded so contrite, Draco wanted to scold him. Trust Harry to act responsible for Draco, like it was his duty to care for him, like it wasn’t enough that he carried burden after dense burden on his scarred shoulders, he had to willingly take on Draco’s baggage as well. “I feel completely awful about it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Draco hiccupped unconvincingly.

“You don’t sound okay. Talk to me.”

Draco shaded his eyes with a sweaty palm and aimed for a deep breath but ended up exhaling a shaky, pitiful one he hoped in vain that Harry didn’t hear.

“I don’t want to talk. I’m tired of talking, and it’s not like anything you say is going to change the fact that I’m _here_.” Draco hated how flat his tone sounded to his own ears. Sometimes that was worse than sobbing. Malfoys were haughty and erudite. They didn’t speak like victims who had been drained of all zeal for life.

“Well, why don’t you come here then? I know you don’t want to upset your mother, but – ”

“Okay, if there’s one thing I’m totally sure of, it’s that I don’t need to exacerbate the kind of crazy I’m feeling by showing up unannounced at the Weasley house.” He hoped Harry knew what he meant by that. It wasn’t because he still held any ill will toward them. It was more that he couldn’t stomach the mortification of walking in there looking distraught and unkempt. His pride might be diminishing with every passing hour, but he had _some_ left, dammit.

“I don’t think they’d – ” Potter stopped short, seeming to realize halfway through his sentence that it was better to forfeit. “Can I come to you instead?”

Draco was bowled over by the realization of how badly he wanted that. Although he intellectually knew it was okay, normal even, to want it, the idea of submitting to that held a degree of contemptibility that was difficult to erode. _Apparently you learned nothing from your fight of less than a week ago. Good job, Malfoy. You’re clearly changing at an accelerated rate. Like a damn elephant’s gestation._

Draco opened his mouth to say yes, but the anxiety train ran full steam ahead to point out other caveats. This was Malfoy Manor, a place Harry had only ever “visited” as a prisoner. It was the place he had heard Hermione’s screams as Draco’s sadistic aunt tortured her. Who was to say that he too wouldn’t fall apart within these walls? Who was to say it wasn’t selfish and cruel to ask him to wade in these treacherous waters for Draco’s benefit?

“Draco? Are you really going to stubbornly stew all night because you’re convinced it makes you feeble to ask me to come over?”

“You’re a bastard, Harry Potter.” Draco traced the grooves of the carved leaves on the mahogany headboard behind him, instinctively rolling his eyes in an effort to project a false aura of annoyance as he would if Potter were there. Not like Harry wouldn’t have been able to see through it anyway. He always did, but it was more like the steps to a friendly dance, his expected part in their repartee that was guaranteed to make Harry smile.

“Why? Because I can suss out all your defense mechanisms and call you on the carpet? Better get used to it, Malfoy, because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“You’re incorrigible. It’s terribly rude. Now come over here and make me feel better.” The grimace that had been plastered on Draco’s face for the last few hours morphed into a grin as he pictured Harry in his childhood bedroom. Maybe he could rectify a bit of the damage this place had done to him by making a few scandalous memories that would be sure to induce a heart attack in his father were he still living there.

“Thank Merlin for Floo powder. I’ll see you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I THINK I might only need one more chapter to wrap this up, but knowing me, it may turn into two. I hope you've enjoyed the journey. :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man...there is so much romance/fluff/smut here haha. I hope you like it because I feel mildly ridiculous about it. As predicted, my "I think I can wrap this up in one chapter" turned into two so another shall be on the way. :D As always, comments and kudos give me life.

Harry dusted off his jeans as he stepped through the burst of green flame in the fireplace, smiling when Draco’s angular face came into view. He did a double-take at first, surprised to find Draco in the clothes Harry associated with his previous incarnations, not with the dream pop listening hipster he knew now. Draco’s stately shoulders were covered by a tailored black blazer. It was layered on top of the green buttondown Harry had given him before they went their separate ways for the holidays, and Harry felt the butterflies stirring to life in his stomach at the sight of it. He would have thought seeing Draco outfitted like his former self would have been off-putting, hearkening back to more unstable times between them, but instead it was like a match held to fresh kindling, stirring a primal thread of lust within him. Even though the thin skin below his eyes was a touch puffy from crying and his pointed features gravitated downward instead of upturning proudly, Malfoy managed to appear regal in his tapered black slacks and loafers.

“Wow, you look – ” Harry was tongue-tied, feeling a tad underdressed as he ruffled his own messy hair.

“I didn’t feel like greeting you in pajamas. I thought putting real clothes on would project a visage of self-assurance or something. Undermine how decidedly _not_ together I feel.” Draco shook his head in defeat, slipping his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching a bit.

“It does a little. I can tell you’re upset, but you still look fucking incredible. I’m having a hard time not thinking about getting you out of those clothes as soon as possible.” Harry walked closer and hooked an arm around Draco’s waist.

“Oh really? Thought you preferred me in skinny jeans and a Pixies t-shirt.” Draco smiled uncertainly and laid a hand on Harry’s arm.

“You look smashing in basically anything, but I think you know that. Seeing you like this has the added bonus of making me imagine a whole different kind of sixth year for us though.” Harry winked and felt a ripple of relief soar through him when Draco cracked a genuine smile. Harry’s eyes scanned the drawing room, running down the length of the enormous table. “This room is intimidating even when it’s empty.”

When Harry’s eyes returned to Draco’s, he saw that his countenance was tinged with panic, the pupils widening as his eyes moved away from Harry and darted about the room.

“The other Floo is too close to mother’s bedroom or I would have told you to go through there. Let’s – ” Draco impatiently jerked his head toward the other end of the massive room. Not wishing to muse about the last time he had found himself there, Harry nodded and linked hands with Draco, following him out of the drawing room and up the lavish marble staircase. Their footsteps resonated loudly in the strange, echoing acoustics of the spacious manor. It was the complete antithesis of the cramped cupboard in which Harry had grown up. Harry had never been in this part of the house, and as he ascended the grand staircase, he found himself confronted with the duality of Draco Malfoy once again.

The structure was so intimidating it gave one the impression of marching toward an unknown fate. It was akin to the feeling Harry had experienced the first time he stepped foot into Hogwarts, the striking columns and high ceilings dwarfing his already small stature until he felt like a speck of dust in the grand scale of the universe. Granted, the effect had been more mind-blowing rather than daunting like it was now. Harry envisaged Draco as a young boy bounding up these winding stairs, laughing and happy-go-lucky. Had he ever been like that? Draco laughed and smiled more now than Harry had ever seen him do in all their years at school combined. Had he always felt smothered by that life, atrophying instead of thriving even if he didn’t realize it yet? How different might Draco have been if nurtured by another atmosphere than this one?  

They made a left at the top of the stairs and walked down a long hallway carpeted with sumptuous chocolate brown fabric and dimly lit by convex wall sconces. The pointed arches and vaulted ceiling projected that otherworldly, menacing quality most Gothic architecture possessed. Harry thought that even without all the bad memories, languishing about in this house at night alone, face to face with the sharp spires and severe angles all designed to be the opposite of inviting, must have compounded Draco's distress. There was beauty in the finely crafted interior, but there was an impersonal quality to it. It was designed to be admired and kept immaculate, not lived-in and homey. There were no jackets hung carelessly over the backs of chairs, no extraneous trinkets strewn about the rooms for sentimentality’s sake. Everything in the Malfoy home served a purpose, either through aesthetics or functionality, but never through whimsy.

About halfway down the hall, Draco wrapped his slender fingers around a doorknob and turned to Harry with a faint smile before opening the door.

Draco's bedroom was exactly as Harry had imagined it would be. His bed was big enough to fit several people. It was canopied with expensive looking gauzy green fabric tied with a ribbon of silk to each wooden poster. There were black silk sheets with a matching down comforter and dark green pillows situated right under the mahogany headboard. At the back of the room, on the left wall, was a substantial oak wardrobe stained a couple shades darker than the original wood. A matching dresser and vanity with an oval mirror were situated against the opposite wall, and a set of scalloped black curtains were drawn over large windows that nearly spanned the length of the back wall. There were two doors with rounded tops on either of the side walls. Closets? A closet and an adjoining bathroom? Harry didn’t ask. The only light in the room came from two flickering pillar candles on top of the dresser. There was an illicit thrill to being allowed in Draco's childhood bedroom. Harry excitedly wondered how many nights Draco had draped his lithe form across those sheets and dreamed of Harry, of how many languid summer afternoons he had passed by fantasizing about having Harry in his bed. Perhaps it was narcissistic for his thoughts to immediately lean in that direction, but he couldn't help it.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him. The serious bend to his expression reminded Harry why he had been called here, and suddenly all salacious imagery fled to be replaced with imprints of the assuredly less joyful evenings Draco must have spent in here, more alone than he had ever known as Voldemort roamed the halls below, the inside of what was once home transforming into something empty and frigid. Harry sat down, wary of speaking. There was an all-encompassing hush in the house that gave one the notion that breaking it would result in disaster.

"Thanks for coming. I know being here can't be a barrel of laughs for you, either." Draco exhaled a long, slow breath and leaned back on his elbows.

"No, but I can handle it. It's not my favorite place in the world, but it doesn't mean everything to me that it does for you." Harry leaned back on his side and turned toward Draco, propping his head up with the heel of his hand.

“It's not even just the memories. It's the way it makes me think about what could have been. I'm genetically half Lucius, and no matter what I do, I can’t change that. I could have done much worse, could have strayed much further. I’m petrified that I could do it again, could slip up without warning at any fucking time." Draco flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands.

Harry's heart ached for him, longed to glue the broken pieces of Draco back together again, to tell him how wonderful he was until he believed it. He put a hand across Draco's stomach, wanting to touch but careful not to crowd him.

"Fuck genetics, you're not like your father and never will be. You're so far removed from that world now.”

Draco took his hands away from his face and turned to meet Harry's gaze with a slow, sad smile.

"You are _always_ so bloody certain. How do you do that? I bet you don’t even worry about what would happen if we can’t make this work, do you? Don’t regret not sorting through the ranks of wizards and witches I’m certain are lining up to have a shot with the Chosen One. Perfectly content to bypass all that to be with a former Death Eater."

"You…didn’t bring me here to tell me you changed your mind again, did you?" Panic seized hold of Harry as he looked back into those questioning grey eyes.

"No, no. God no…I – " Draco laid his hand on top of Harry's. “Everything I used to resent about you…I think I mostly envied it. It’s nice to be on the receiving end of it now even if it’s still baffling. I wish I could borrow that certainty for a little while; that’s all.”

Draco turned on his side until they were facing each other.

"Do _you_ regret it? Do you wish you were…” Harry retained a hint of reservation about where Draco was going with this. It was difficult not to reflect on how many men Draco himself could have had if he wanted, but Malfoy silenced it with sincere silver eyes and a hand on Harry’s cheek.

“No. Never. But maybe that’s the problem. I don’t ever want to stop feeling like this,” Draco’s voice descended into a whisper as he stroked Harry’s jawline with his thumb, his eyes turning dreamy and half-lidded.

“Merlin, are Slytherins always this morose? You can be quite the downer, Malfoy,” Harry took a gamble on humor to bring Draco back from his mood. Draco laughed, and it was the purest, most melodious sound Harry had ever heard.

“We can’t all be Gryffindors charging in without a plan, consequences be damned. But you’re right, I’m ruining this.” Draco rolled his eyes at himself and picked at some imaginary lint on the comforter.

“You’re not ruining anything. I wouldn’t have you any other way. I just wish I could erase all your doubts. You don’t need to worry about anything right now. If we muck it up, fine.”

Draco chuckled and shook his head.

“Potter, you’re so – “

“Naïve, optimistic, headstrong, incurably stupid? Yes, I know. You’ve made me well aware on a very frequent basis, but you love me _for_ that not in spite of it so shut your contrary, posh mouth and let me love you, dammit.” Harry pulled Draco close and kissed his forehead.

“Actually, I was going to say magnificent, but if we’re piling on, let’s add pigheaded to the list.” Draco’s lips twisted halfway into a smirk.

“We’ll be fine, Draco. Even if we’re not, it’ll be okay.”

“Life is cruel, Harry. You know that _very_ well.” He appeared to have gone through his internal turmoil and emerged on the other side of the mountain, that jittery, faraway look replaced by love, but there was still a lingering sense of unrest that Harry couldn’t identify at first. And then it hit him. These weren’t doubts about how they felt about each other. These were the doubts that whisper in your ear when you’ve weathered the most torrential storms the world can deliver from its mighty jaws. Every inch of the manor was a reminder of how much control one didn’t have over their own life sometimes.

Harry held Draco’s face between his hands and stared back at him with determination.

“You’re right. It is cruel and unpredictable and out of our control. Maybe something terrible _will_ happen and rip us apart. But in my opinion? We’d go our separate ways and grow and learn and be better the second time around. Same way we’ve already done, really. There’s nothing that could separate us so wholly that I wouldn’t find my way back to you. Not when we’ve already been through the worst and come out the other side. This thing between us is as stubborn as both of us combined. It’s not going anywhere. Not without a gigantic bloodbath of a fight. And besides, what kind of a gutless reason is it to miss out on something amazing because you’re afraid it might not be perfect forever?”

Draco melted under Harry’s hands, his eyes, his words, all his disquiet receding and leaving only adoration.

“You came _here_ for me. You left your friends, you left – ” Malfoy was very nearly breathless, his chest rising and falling more rapidly now, but it wasn’t in anxiety this time. Harry knew he wasn’t speaking only about today, not only about Harry leaving the Weasley’s house at the drop of a hat, but about how he refused to let any nagging ghosts of the past come between them.

“I’d do most anything for you, Draco.” If Harry had weighed it out beforehand, if he had analyzed every word before choosing it, it might have sounded too histrionic, too much like a romance novel confession, but in that moment it rang so true that Harry’s blood sang as he uttered it.

“You would, wouldn’t you? What did I do to deserve you?” Draco murmured against Harry’s palm, turning his head to kiss and lick at the smooth skin. Harry moaned softly as searing heat filled his body.

“Well, according to Charlie Weasley, it’s because you’re such a hot twink with legs for days.”

Draco’s eyes went wide at that, and a little chuckle left his moist mouth.

“He said that?! Please tell me Ron was within earshot.”

“Sadly no, but Charlie promises to repeat it when he is.” Harry grinned back at him, painfully aware of how tight his trousers were growing already.

“You know…even though you would do most _anything_ , lucky for you I only want one thing right now.” Draco’s eyes turned positively predatory as he leaned in, possessive hands cupping Harry’s arse as he crashed their mouths together. Harry deepened the kiss, tongue stroking against Draco’s as he twined his fingers in his white-blond locks. Harry slid the black jacket off Draco’s shoulders and rolled them both until Draco was on top of him, knees bracketing Harry’s hips. Draco sat up to unbutton his shirt, stormy eyes bearing down on Harry in the dark room. Harry felt the prickly sensation of goosebumps erupting up and down his forearms. The way a single, intent gaze from Draco could take him apart and fill every inch of him with blistering fire never ceased to amaze Harry. He wanted, _needed_ to see more. Harry fumbled to pull his wand from his back pocket, casting a _Lumos_ before setting the wand near the end of the bed. Bathed in the lemon-yellow light, the planes of Draco’s face looked softer, his pallor shaded by the warm glow. He looked peaceful and sweet, all the tears and strife of a few minutes ago cast aside.  

Harry sat up until Draco was seated across his lap and pushed the now open shirt off his shoulders. He mouthed at the creamy skin there, gripping Draco closer when he gasped quietly as Harry lightly scraped his teeth along his neck. He bit down harder, relishing the way Draco bucked his hips and tugged on the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry soothed the bite mark with feathery brushes of his tongue, and Draco impatiently pushed him away, eager to get Harry out of his jumper as soon as possible. He lifted his arms obediently so Draco could pull it off and toss it behind him. With a commanding hand on his chest, Draco pushed Harry onto his back again, claiming every naked patch of skin with his lips and teeth. He took extra care to tease the hard buds of Harry’s nipples, sucking them into his mouth and flicking the reddened skin with the tip of his tongue with that perfect pressure that always made Harry throw back his head and moan. Harry arched up into his mouth and could feel Draco’s self-satisfied smile blooming against his skin.

Suddenly, Draco jolted upward and looked behind him, leaving Harry to emit a confused whine. He outstretched greedy hands to bring him back, but then Draco accio’d his wand and cast a strong privacy charm. He grinning wickedly at Harry as he did it, the implications so lewd it made Harry’s cock twitch. _I plan on making you scream before we’re done, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything interrupt us._

They shed the rest of their clothes in a hurry, groaning at the delicious friction of their cocks colliding when they hungrily pressed their bodies back together, hands grasping shoulders and hips, desperate to be as close as possible. Draco crawled down Harry’s body, covering his chest and stomach with kisses. Sinking between Harry’s legs, he swallowed him down without warning. Harry’s hips jerked at the unexpected sensation, the relentlessly hot, slick slide of Draco’s mouth engulfing him.

“ _Fuck_ , Draco,” Harry groaned as Draco’s clever tongue traced the ridges along the underside of his erection. As he pulled back, he sucked on the sensitive head and lapped at the leaking slit. Harry’s eyelids fluttered as he threaded his fingers through Draco’s silky hair. He leaned his head forward to find Draco watching him with a piercing gaze, keenly observing every sign of pleasure from Harry, every hitched breath, every tensing of his abdomen as his back bowed off the bed. He ran his tongue along Harry’s inner thigh, still gazing at him with that burning intensity.

“Do you know what I want right now, Harry?” Draco said his name like it was some libidinous, forbidden word, and Harry shivered.

“No…what do you want, Draco?” _I will give you anything, anything at all. Take you apart until we’re both coming so hard we can’t think straight and the only thing I can say is your name._

Draco’s features shifted from lustful to vulnerable, beseeching Harry to give him exactly what he wanted. He made his way back up Harry’s body until they were face to face again and kissed him slow and deep. It was an imploring kiss, a prelude to asking. He licked at Harry’s earlobe and sucked it into his mouth.

“You know what I want. Harry, _please_ …I need it,” Draco panted into Harry’s ear, and the sound of Draco Malfoy practically _begging_ Harry to fuck him made him delirious, dizzy like he was under the influence of some potent drug.

“A-are you sure? Here?” Harry’s voice came out raspy and winded.

“Yes. Extremely sure.” Draco lifted his head to meet Harry’s eyes, letting him see how certain he was.

A surge of desire pulsed through Harry, but it was also entangled with nerves. Harry had fingered Draco a little, but that was the closest they had come to anal sex. He worried about being inept and wanted nothing more than to please him. In hindsight, waiting was starting to seem like the worst idea Harry had ever had. What if delaying it had just built higher expectations? How disappointed would his boyfriend be if, after months of anticipation (and really after _years_ if Harry were to take into account how long Draco had wanted him), Harry ended up being the worst fuck Draco had ever had?

“Harry? Are you – do you want to?” Draco asked, doubt edging into the question.

“I do. I’m nervous though,” Harry admitted with a sigh.

“I know. Me too.”

“But you’ve done it before,” Harry said with a frown.

Draco laughed and traced Harry’s forehead scar with two fingertips.

“You’re so oblivious, Potter. I’ve never done it with _you_ , now have I?”

Harry smiled, feeling a little more relaxed.

“Can you go in there for a minute first?” Draco pointed to the door on the right wall, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

“You’re shoving me in your closet? Why?”

Draco made a disdainful grunt and rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bathroom, not a closet. Now go in there before I change my mind about how mawkish I am, and don’t ask any more questions, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest again but shut it when Draco’s eyebrows rose in warning. Sliding off the bed, Harry walked over to the bathroom, trying not to feel self-conscious and use instinctive yet futile hands to cover up. Unsurprisingly, Draco’s bathroom was all gilded green marble and unsullied glass. Harry stood around awkwardly. Despite the fact that it was a room in which people were supposed to be nude, Harry felt impolite sitting on the edge of the clawfoot tub or anywhere else, for that matter. Every stupidly ostentatious object in there had probably been in the Malfoy family for centuries. Fortunately, Draco called to him only a minute later, saving him from any further deliberation on how the hell one should behave when they find themselves waiting naked in their exorbitantly rich boyfriend’s bathroom.

When Harry walked back into the bedroom, he almost missed the change. But then he saw the glint of light reflecting off the metal drawer pulls of Draco’s dresser. He looked around, puzzled at first until he saw something twinkling and celestial in his periphery. Harry lifted his chin and saw that the ceiling was no longer covered with white paint. Instead, a brilliant night sky swathed the whole area, glittering stars dotting the stark black backdrop and illuminating the room with a silvery light. A waxing gibbous moon was near the top right corner of the room, and a shooting star rocketed across the middle as Harry stared up in openmouthed awe. 

“Draco…how did you…”

“Is it too over the top? Or worse, too reminiscent of Hogwarts? I don’t want you thinking about OWLs and potions labs when we’re about to – ”

Before Draco could finish that thought, Harry was kissing away all his misgivings, tongue bidding his mouth to open, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

“I’ll take that as a rousing endorsement.” Draco pulled back to smile at Harry, combing his unruly hair back from his forehead.

“It’s unbelievable. I love it.” Harry was fairly certain his grin was going to expand until his face could no longer accommodate it. “Get on your stomach for me?”

Draco nodded enthusiastically and laid on the bed. Harry took a moment to let his eyes drink in Draco’s form, awestruck by the long lines of his body highlighted by the glow of the now starlit room. He found himself wishing he could draw so he could find a way to capture those graceful contours for all time. Harry knelt between Draco’s legs and nudged them farther apart.

“On your hands and knees.” It came out as more of a command than he’d meant it, but Draco’s quiet moan and the way he sprang into position made Harry think maybe it was a happy accident. Seeing Draco like this was always so intimate. He was exposed and vulnerable, at the ready for whatever Harry would give him, the most secret parts of his body on display. Although Harry was too mortified by this penchant to ever make Draco aware of it, he loved the way his entrance looked. Pale, unmarred pink against stark alabaster, the faintest dusting of blond hair. It was delicate, small, and beautiful. Harry sighed longingly, overwhelmed by the knowledge that he would be inside Draco before this evening was over. Caressing that velvety heat with just his tongue and fingers was heavenly. The very real worry that he would come as soon as his cock was fully sheathed began to occupy his mind.

He pushed it aside, dipping down to swipe his tongue across the furrowed skin. He coaxed the tight ring of muscle open with those short little licks he knew Draco loved. It wasn’t long before he was putty in Harry’s hands, relaxed and blissful underneath the firm strokes of his tongue, spreading his legs even farther apart, moaning and grinding back against Harry’s face in a plea for more. Harry adored bringing Draco to that level, loved knowing he was so aroused that he’d become totally shameless. He didn’t beg with his words, but he begged with his body, with his backward thrusts, his blatant, unrestrained moans, and the way he gathered the sheets in his fists. Harry always responded in kind, his cock achingly hard as he buried his face in that soft, secret place until they’d both had their fill. As much as he wanted to keep going until neither of them could withstand it, until his chin was dripping obscenely and Draco was on the verge of sobbing, until he truly accomplished the impossible and made Draco _really_ beg him, he wanted to move the night forward.

Harry cast a lubrication charm, a wave of pleasure pulsing through him as he watched Draco quiver, that magnificent arc of his back undulating in an irresistible way, those shoulder blades that looked carved from marble drawing together. He stroked the pad of his finger across the sticky liquid now coating the puckered flesh and felt Draco tense underneath the touch. With care, he rubbed across the rim a few times until the tension in Draco uncoiled. Harry pushed his finger in an inch or two, groaning at the way Draco contracted around him, molded to his finger and squeezed it so tightly. The thought of that tightness enveloping his cock nearly made Harry woozy. Draco was quiet, breathing measured as he waited for Harry to continue. Harry withdrew and pushed back in, and this time Draco let out a breathy sigh, tucking his cheek against his upper arm. Harry did it again, pushing in further this time, and lamented that he couldn’t see Draco’s face.

“I changed my mind. I want you on your back.” Harry draped his body over Draco’s back to whisper in his ear, “Want to look at you while I finger you open, watch you get nice and wet for me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harry,” Draco breathed, his arms wobbling as he struggled to stay balanced on his hands. Harry smiled smugly as he gave Draco room to turn over.

Yes, this was _much_ better. Now he could see Draco’s pink cheeks, the fine sheen of sweat already beading on his forehead, the glassy tint to his entranced eyes. Harry resumed his position between Draco’s legs and leisurely thrust his finger in, moving in and out until it become an easy glide with little resistance.

“Waiting for a written invitation, Potter?” Draco’s question started off scoffing but ended in a high pitched moan as Harry dragged the pad of his finger across his prostate. Harry grinned as his surname spilled out garbled and half-incoherent from Draco’s lips.

“Want you to be ready,” Harry purred as he coated two fingers in newly conjured lubed and breached Draco again, biting and sucking his hipbone until Draco gripped his shoulder in a bruising hold and was bucking toward Harry’s fingers to demand more. Harry admired the rise and fall of Draco’s taut stomach, his pink, pert nipples standing erect against a canvas of pale skin whose only blemishes were the scars Harry had given him. Harry pumped his fingers in and out, moving a little faster now that Draco was opening up around them, and lapped at the edge of the lowest jagged line of scar tissue. Draco moaned Harry’s name like a reverent prayer and scratched his nails down his back, tightly wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist.

“Merlin, Draco, you always feel so fucking good.”

Harry stroked that sensitive spot inside him and mouthed across the scars until Draco was chanting a feverish chorus of “ _fuck fuck fuck”_ and “ _please please Harry please.”_ Harry’s groin stirred with unraveling lust; Draco had never begged quite so ardently, and it was absolutely intoxicating to hear. He couldn’t wait another second, buzzing with the urge to finally give Draco what he was pleading for. It was obvious from the way Draco writhed underneath him, rosy flush painting his skin as he panted and hungrily ran his hands over Harry’s muscles, that he couldn’t wait anymore either.

Removing his fingers, Harry did a quick cleaning charm to remove the sticky liquid still clinging to his skin. He reached for a pillow to place under Draco’s hips, but Draco made an annoyed sound and clutched at his wrist.

“Those pillowcases are silk, Potter.”

“And we’re wizards who can use a quick _Scourgify_ , you finicky git,” Harry countered with a laugh. Apparently, returning to Malfoy Manor had restored a few old habits.

“Fair enough,” Draco acceded with an extravagant sigh, lifting his hips for Harry.

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asked as he ran his hands down Draco’s lissome thighs.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Draco flashed an encouraging smile, and Harry took a deep breath as he slicked his cock. As he lined himself up and bent Draco’s legs back, fending off the swirling eddy of doubts became difficult. He wasn’t even sure why he ascribed so much to this moment, this act, when they’d already shared so much. All the same, it felt sacred, and Harry dreaded making a misstep of any kind. Draco must have seen it in his eyes because he lifted Harry’s chin with a slim index finger and smiled once again. “Weren’t you the one to tell me how everything will be fine even when it isn’t?”

Harry wrapped his hand around Draco’s wrist and nodded, smiling back. He looked down at Draco’s body, waiting and receptive, and gripped his cock at the base. He finally pushed inside a tentative couple of inches, stopping when the head disappeared inside Draco, and looked up to seek his approval. Draco nodded, and Harry pushed in further, stopping when Draco’s eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“A little, but that’s to be expected. I haven’t done it in months. It’s fine, honestly. Once it stops hurting, it’s…” Draco’s eyes turned hazy with lust as he stroked up and down Harry’s arms, “It’s brilliant. Unlike anything else.”

Harry shrugged off the temptation to dwell on the implications of that comment. Jealousy had no place in this moment.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts too much?”

Draco started to roll his eyes, but then something else passed across his angular features, and he simply nodded again. Satisfied, Harry wrapped his hands around either side of Draco’s hips and gradually thrust in until he was hilt-deep. He stared down at the place where their bodies were now joined and groaned softly. It was unfathomable somehow. They’d known each other for nearly half their lives, waded through traumas that made that short time feel like decades, and it had all landed them here. He met Draco’s gaze and saw that he felt it too.

“Harry, come here,” Draco whispered, lightly pulling on Harry’s wrists. Harry obliged, leaning forward until his forearms were caging Draco’s chest, their breath mingling as Harry’s mouth hovered above Draco’s plush lips. Harry pulled out halfway and thrust in again, moaning as Draco exhaled sharply.

“You feel incredible. It’s – ” Harry made another shallow thrust and completely lost all ability to articulate anything when Draco’s walls constricted around him.

“Tell me.” Draco kissed his neck, one hand resting in the small of his back as the other carded through Harry’s hair.

“I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.” Harry built up a slow rhythm, mindful of Draco’s comfort as his thrusts grew more forceful. He turned his head to clumsily meet Draco’s lips, sealing their mouths as he lost himself in the glorious damp heat of Draco, his skin tingling with warmth from head to toe now. Draco’s tremulous moans started to match Harry’s own as they grew more frenzied. When he broke the kiss to rest his head on the pillow, Harry no longer had any doubts about how Draco was feeling. His mouth was slack, the flush on his cheeks had darkened to a deep red, and he watched Harry like he’d never seen anything that captivating in his whole life. Harry snapped his hips forward hard, grinning at the high pitched “ _fuck”_ it elicited from Draco and the way his nails dug into Harry’s back as he pushed back to meet his thrusts. The way Draco’s muscles clenched around him, opening to accept him and clamping down like he was made to fit around Harry’s cock, was thoroughly undoing him.

“ _God_ , you feel so perfect inside me. I knew you would,” Draco panted, kissing and biting along the length of Harry’s neck.

“What does it feel like?” Harry choked out, quickly becoming so drunk on every sensation flooding his nerve-endings that he didn’t know how much longer he would last.

“Idon’tknowit’s – oh fuck – ” Draco mumbled, tilting his head back as Harry clutched his arse, lifting it off the mattress to change the angle and find a way to hit that sensitive nub inside him. “Like I’m warm from the inside out, like I can feel it in every part of my body when you – ”

Draco trailed off when Harry picked up the pace, no longer able to utter more than a litany of urgent cries of _oh_ and _yes_.

Harry felt his climax roiling low in his belly and stopped moving, circling his fingers around the base of his cock to stop the orgasm from surging forward. Draco let out a demanding whine and clawed at Harry’s back.

“S-sorry, I…I want you to come first. I want you to come with my cock inside you,” Harry breathlessly exclaimed. The admission made Draco moan and claim Harry’s mouth in a greedy kiss that stole what little breath Harry had left.

“Pull out,” Draco commanded, and Harry obeyed. “Get on your back.”

Too dazed to question it, Harry flopped onto his back, curious eyes following Draco as he straddled Harry’s hips. His intention become clear when he firmly gripped Harry’s cock and positioned himself above it. Harry nearly fainted at the sight of Draco Malfoy sinking down on his cock, biting his lip and letting out clipped little breaths as Harry’s prick slowly filled him. When Harry was full seated within him, Draco turned to meet his eyes, and that predatory gaze was back. He braced his hands on the lean muscles of Harry’s chest and straightened his spine.

Draco looked so formidably sexy; Harry wasn’t sure he could remember how to make his lungs work. And when he started to undulate his slim hips – taking what he wanted, using Harry’s cock to chase his own pleasure – well, watching that just about murdered him on the spot. Draco leaned back ever so slightly, shifting methodically in an attempt to discover the angle that would leave him delirious and moaning. He found it as he tilted back farther, thighs shaking from the effort as he lifted up and down. Harry was mesmerized by the picture before him, his cock disappearing inside Draco’s tight heat as he used Harry’s body however he wanted. Draco nearly lost his balance and caught himself, gripping Harry’s thighs for extra leverage. Harry squeezed Draco’s hips with both hands and held him in place, driving inside him with renewed ferocity. With a shaking hand, Draco clasped his own cock from where it bobbed between their bodies, swollen and neglected, and stroked himself erratically, struggling to find a rhythm as Harry’s cock pounded into him. When Draco came, it was a spellbinding sight. He moaned with abandon, completely uninhibited as he threw his head back, the now dimming _Lumos_ and the starry shine of the spelled ceiling catching on strands of golden hair on his damp forehead as he spilled over his hand and onto Harry’s stomach.

Harry sat up to embrace him, and Draco’s head fell forward onto his shoulder. His breathing was still irregular as he rode the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he was trembling in Harry’s arms.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking.” Harry clasped him close, kissing his sweaty shoulder.

Draco didn’t answer, only started to grind lazily in Harry’s lap. It was a torturously torpid pace that made Harry’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Come inside me, Harry. I _need_ to feel you come,” Draco huskily whispered, rolling his hips more insistently until Harry felt the torrent of pleasure cresting within him, building toward release like the vibrant blue and red streams of magic he pictured churning within him before he released a wandless charm through his fingertips. Sparkling flashes of white light burst on the borders of his vision. He couldn’t be sure if they were a hallucination or not as he spilled deep inside Draco, gasping and holding him tightly, fingers sliding down sweat-slick skin as Draco’s hips gradually halted all movement. Harry whimpered as he caught his breath, chin tucked into the crook of Draco’s long neck. They held each other for a few minutes, both serene as they floated in the safety of that post-orgasmic haze, nothing occupying their minds other than the ecstasy of what had just happened in this unlikely bed.

They separated a bit unsteadily; Harry’s limbs felt boneless and fluid. He wandlessly cleaned them both, the pleasant tingle on his skin a soothing comfort as he lied down next to Draco. As he turned on his side, he saw that Draco was still quivering a bit.

“Hey, come here,” Harry softly said, wrapping Draco in his arms and running mollifying palms up and down his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that.” Draco’s voice came out flinty and hoarse, and Harry didn’t know what to make of it.

“But – ”

Draco pulled back, hands braced on Harry’s pectorals.

“I understand how all the conversations we’ve had might give you the impression that I’m always ready to talk about my feelings, but I’m still _Malfoy_. And right now,” Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “right now I don’t want to talk about it. I assure you I can’t stop shaking for very, very good, euphoric reasons. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

He opened his eyes cautiously and studied Harry. _Draco’s shaking because he’s happy, and he’s happy because of me. Because of us._ Harry didn’t have to hear the words leave Malfoy’s mouth; his silence said it all. He held Draco a little while longer, stroking his smooth skin until the shudders subsided, and he let out a small, contented sigh.

“Draco, did – ”

“You really are incapable of keeping your mouth shut for more than five minutes, aren’t you Potter?” Draco grumbled amusedly as he rolled onto his back.

“Did I…did we…make the stars brighter or did I imagine that?” Harry peered over at Draco with inquiring eyes, and Draco’s lips spread into a lazy but extremely pleased smile.

“That was all you, Harry. I felt it rolling off you like…” Draco shook his head, and his smile widened, “these heady, powerful waves of magic, and then the enchanted ceiling lit up like a lightning storm. It was beautiful.”

They exchanged giddy grins, and then Draco slid off the bed, extending a hand to Harry. Harry took it and began to follow him but stopped when their destination became clear.

“What – ” Harry started but was interrupted by Draco drawing the thick curtains back to reveal that what he had presumed to be windows were actually large French doors that opened onto a balcony. Draco started to unlatch them, but Harry put a halting hand on his forearm. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, and Harry gestured to his state of nudity. “Are we really in the condition to be outdoors right now?”

“We’re in Wiltshire in the middle of the night, Potter. No one is going to see that perfect prick or your naked, perky arse except me.”

“It’s also December?!”

“Wasn’t it you that reminded me of our wizarding status less than an hour ago? Your short term memory really is a matter of concern, Potter. _Warming charms_ ,” Draco petulantly explained. “The grounds are an epic vision this time of year. Everything is quiet and tranquil and covered in snow. Let me show you. Besides, it was pretty warm today. The snow will melt soon if this keeps up.”

“I still don’t see why I have to be _nude_ to enjoy the scenery.”

“You don’t. That part’s solely for my benefit, but perhaps take comfort in the fact that you won’t be doing it alone?” Draco grandly swept his hand in front of his torso to indicate his own state of undress.

“You’re absolutely mental,” Harry huffed but walked over and grabbed both of their wands from the bottom of the bed anyway. He didn’t realize what he’d done until he saw Draco’s mildly bewildered expression as he handed him the wand. “S-sorry…I didn’t think – ”

“Quite alright.” Draco brushed it off, and Harry couldn’t blame him. Dwelling on the last time he had taken Draco’s wand in this house wouldn’t exactly make for a pleasant addition to their afterglow. Draco summoned his cigarettes and lighter from where they lay on the vanity and opened the French doors. Harry shivered as the frigid air crept into the room and tickled across his bare skin. They cast the charms nearly simultaneously, breathing relieved sighs as the warm air cocooned them. Draco set his wand on the right side of the balcony’s wide ledge and lit a cigarette.

“I could have done that for you,” Harry motioned to Draco’s cigarette, the tip glowing red-orange in the moonlit dark, before setting his wand on the left of the ledge.  

“And risk you singing off my sculpted eyebrows? No, thank you.” Draco smirked and took a long drag. He exhaled through his nose, the cloud of smoke rising above their small tent of warmth and expanding as it met the cold air and drifted off into the sky. Harry laughed and almost added _this place really does put you back in touch with your old self,_ but he didn’t want it to be misconstrued as something darker than a friendly joke.

“Does your mother know you smoke?” Harry watched the billows of smoke curl and disperse.

“She knows but pretends not to. It’s endearing, really. Almost like I’m a normal teenager, and she’s a normal parent. Like me covertly smoking and sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to a party are the biggest problems for us to argue about.” Draco inhaled another lungful of smoke and leaned over the balcony. It was such a beautiful yet bizarre sight: Draco without a stitch of clothing on, elbows resting on the chilly stone, cigarette dangling from his lips, knees bent and arse nearly indecently pushed out, the moonlight making his pale skin almost ethereal. Harry came up behind him, snaking an arm around Draco’s waist. Draco rose to his full height and pressed his back against Harry’s chest, head falling against his shoulder. Harry tightened both arms around his torso and covered his neck with kisses. Draco plucked the still lit cigarette from his mouth, tossed it over the balcony to the mounds of snow below, and turned his head to kiss Harry’s mouth. He tasted like fresh smoke and sweat, but Harry didn’t mind at all.

“Any concerns at this moment?” Harry couldn’t resist asking.

“No. Fuck the world. It’s our oyster. We’re Harry fucking Potter and Draco goddamn Malfoy. Let it throw its most inexorable obstacles our way; we can conquer all.” Draco’s smile held a hint of mockery.

“Is that the endorphins talking? If a good shag is all you need to cure all ailments, I should take a different approach to cheering you up from now on.”

“Only a little, and I’ll hold you to that. I love you, Harry,” Draco quietly uttered, grey irises suddenly serious, as though he needed Harry to know he was sincere.

“I love you too, Draco. Tonight was – ”

“Don’t.” Draco clamped his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Sometimes it’s best not to burst the bubble with words. I know it. You know it. Let’s just watch the snow and know it together, alright?”

Draco gave him a meaningful look, his soft, devoted eyes making Harry’s heart beat faster, and Harry nodded, planting another kiss on Draco’s mouth.

“It really is dazzling, isn’t it?” Malfoy turned back to gaze off into the distance, and Harry followed suit. He was right. The frozen landscape was spectacular, acres of trees and meticulously manicured shrubbery clothed in pristine patches of snow that glistened like diamonds. Spindly branches cast elongated, spectral shadows on the powdery white ground. Flanked by two rows of well-pruned hedges was an ornate stone fountain. Harry couldn’t make out the patterns composing the carved edges of it, but rising from the center was an imposing, detailed dragon with wings spread, its fierce maw parted for water to spurt forth during the warmer months. Harry wondered if Draco used to sit on the rim in the summertime, lean body reclining as he read a book. Perhaps he splashed in the fountain as a younger child, reprimanded by his father for his lack of decorum before he was old enough to grasp the arbitrary nature of social rules, the strict behavioral code enforced as his undeveloped brain fought to understand it. People don’t talk enough about how lonely childhood can be, Harry decided. The most common narrative of childhood is that it’s a carefree time people nostalgically yearn to return to; that it’s a block of time in the grand scheme of our development that precedes adult concerns like death and survival. But that easy picture, passed on as a universality, didn’t suit the lives of Harry and Draco. Nothing about their narrative, separately or together, was typical. None of it fit neatly into preordained boxes. A few flurries blew by the balcony on the winter wind, gradually tumbling down to join the snowdrifts below.

“Yeah…it really is.” Harry tightened his hold on Draco, keeping him close until the fading hot air charms and the heat of their joined bodies was no longer enough to fight the icy air, driving them back to the comfort of Draco’s bed.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note that is perhaps unnecessary but is important to me: assume that since Draco said in a past chapter a variation of "hey, are you wary because of safety? because we haven't talked about protection spells and condoms," they sorted out their clean bills of health "off camera" so to speak. It's a thing that's important to me to include in fic usually, but I didn't hearken back to it here because I didn't want to get bogged down with exposition. As y'all have probably figured out, I can be a longwinded fucker enough as it is lol.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this fic...such romance. Much mushiness. :P I hope it warms your heart. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and/or commented along the way. This fic was very much a happy accident, and it's been lovely to have some people along for the ride.

Harry woke to the harsh light of sunrays blindingly reflected off snow, and he groaned as he flung the covers over his head. He began to fold his body into the crooks of Draco’s, all the dips and curves that lined up so perfectly with his own, and then his eyes suddenly went wide. He shot up in bed, inadvertently taking half the comforter with him as he glanced wildly about the room in an attempt to locate his clothes. Draco made a grunt of displeasure and groggily tugged on the comforter. When he lazily opened an eye to see Harry’s features twisted into terror, he sat up against the headboard and rubbed his bleary eyes.

“What the hell, Potter? Why do you look like Snape just caught you looting the potions storeroom?”

“We fell asleep!” Harry exclaimed as though that was a sufficient explanation.

“Yeeesss, that’s what we tend to do after we have sex…at night…in a bed,” Draco responded slowly as though speaking to a hopeless imbecile.

“But – won’t your mother…I mean, shouldn’t I be _not_ naked in your bed for someone to find? I feel like we’re fifteen, and I snuck in here after your mum went to sleep.” Harry’s eyes were still a bit mad, and Draco clamped a hand on his mouth to suppress the giggles rising up his throat. Harry glared at him and whacked his shoulder with a pillow. “Shut up!”

“Sorry.” Draco stroked a hand down Harry’s arm, and then tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Actually, no I’m not. You’re afraid of Narcissa Malfoy catching you in her son’s bed, and it’s absolutely hysterical.”

Draco laughed again, and Harry rolled his eyes and huffily crossed his arms.

“I’m glad you find it so hilarious.”

“You didn’t see your face. One could swear you were headed to the gallows.”

“Well, I don’t know how she – does she know about us?” In that moment, Harry realized that Draco hadn’t previously offered any indication that his mother was aware of their relationship.

“Oh…” Draco’s eyebrows lifted as though this tidbit of information had only now dawned on him as well. He nodded a touch too vigorously to subdue Harry’s doubts. “She likes you, Harry. Like I said, getting distance from father sort of seemed to allow her to be herself. Like she was gifted a whole second life. It was rather shocking how happy she was to hear the news, honestly. Never thought I’d see the day where a Malfoy practically jumped for joy at the announcement that their gay son is dating Harry Potter, but here we are.”

Harry relaxed a bit, sinking back into the luxury of the silk sheets.

“That’s good to know, but I’d still prefer it if my first time meeting her as your boyfriend didn’t involve me naked and looking well shagged.”

“To be fair, your hair always looks like you’ve been shagged within an inch of your life – ”

Harry pinched Malfoy’s hip, and Draco snickered as he jerked away.

“I’m merely _saying_ that she’s not likely to know the difference, but more to the point, it’s still too early for breakfast. I have alarms set, and a house elf will come knocking long before mother will if I’m late.”

“A house elf calling you to breakfast?” The corner of Harry’s mouth tugged up in a taunting smile, and now it was Draco’s turn to hit _him_ with a pillow.

“You’re at Malfoy bloody Manor, Harry. Of course there are house elves to call me to breakfast.” Draco’s eyes narrowed dismissively before flitting over to the antique pendulum clock atop his dresser. It was just after eight. “Looks like we have about an hour before that happens soooo…”   

Draco turned back to Harry with a lustful gaze and dragged him closer. Harry smiled and kissed him, fingers trailing down his back and into the cleft of his arse. Draco flinched minutely as the pad of Harry’s finger swept across the tender flesh.

“Sorry. I guess I should have known. Are you okay?” Harry softly asked, withdrawing his hand.

“Yeah, I’ll be sore for a bit, but having a reminder of last night isn’t so bad,” Draco proclaimed with a content smile.

“Er, maybe in the meantime we can…” Harry bit his lip, less bold about openly discussing erotic things in the bright, revealing light of morning, “switch?”

“ _Harry Potter_.” Draco’s smile turned sly. He leaned in and kissed Harry’s neck. “Are you saying you want to ride me and come on my cock tonight?”

Draco, he noted, had _no_ problem telling Harry exactly what he wanted to do to him at any given moment. Still a little paranoid about Narcissa Malfoy barging in and finding him in a compromising state, Harry stifled his yearning moan and dutifully ignored the thickening of his cock.

“ _Yes_. Merlin yes, but if I don’t get out of here soon I really am going to end up giving your mum a heart attack. My self-control has never been that great.”

Draco nodded reluctantly and kissed Harry once more before rolling out of bed. They both began to get dressed, and Harry noticed Draco eyeing him dubiously.

“So, um…while we’re on the subject, mother did ask me if she could come to London and have tea with us.” Draco slipped his arms into the sleeves of the black buttondown he pulled out of the wardrobe and gazed at Harry expectantly. Harry thought it interesting that he didn’t explicitly ask; he simply presented the option and waited for Harry to respond. There was something endearingly tentative about it.

“That would be great. I haven’t seen her since…well, it’s been a long time,” Harry said with an awkward chuckle. He pulled his jumper over his head. “It’d be nice to meet properly.”

“Really?” Draco breathed a relieved sigh as he finished buttoning his shirt.

“Definitely.”

 

***

 

Although Malfoy had readily agreed to tea with his mother, he was in a tizzy when the occasion finally arrived one bitterly cold February afternoon. 

“My _apartment_ , the _record shop_ , probably Ruby’s nosy arse, she’s going to see it ALL, POTTER! And she’ll be asking questions! Loads of questions I haven’t strategically chosen answers for because I apparently am far thicker than my conceit has let me realize! This is an utter _disaster_!”

Draco was pacing around his living room, hands flailing as he worked himself into near hysteria. It was quite amusing to watch, but Harry reserved any teasing remarks for when Draco was more capable of laughing.

“Draco, it’ll be fine. Your mother loves you; she wants you to be happy. You both agreed to this. You’re catastrophizing about what’s going to be a perfectly painless evening; I promise.” Harry wasn’t sure he believed his own words. He was certain that regardless of how amenable all parties were to the idea of this tea date, there would be a few bumps and uncomfortable silences along the way. It was par for the course, really, but he knew that wasn’t what Draco needed to hear right now. Abruptly, Draco’s expression changed as he halted his frenzied pacing and whirled around, keenly eyeing Harry. 

“I know! You have to fill the time talking about yourself. You excel at that when you’re nervous. You can get a _really_ good babble going.” Draco wore a comically demented smile like a mad scientist who had stumbled upon the missing ingredient in a necromantic experiment. Harry pictured Draco in a lab coat being carted off to an asylum while blathering on about how they’d “all see one day!” and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Wow. Thank you, Malfoy,” Harry replied sarcastically. “Good to know that’s how you see me.”

“Come on, I need you as a buffer! Deflect her like you’re blocking in a duel! You excel at that too, Mr. _Expelliarmus_!”

Harry couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or a slight. He walked over and rubbed Draco’s shoulders from behind.

“Draco, it’s only your mum not the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Calm down.” Harry kissed the back of Draco’s head and wrapped protective arms around his waist.

“On a bad day, my mum could give the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a run for their money. Mark my words,” Draco muttered, leaning into Harry’s embrace. Harry decided that was probably true but tried to diffuse his fear.

“I’m sure she can, but today won’t be a bad day. I’ll be right there with you the whole time. It’s a _good_ thing that she wants to visit you here.” Harry wound his arms tighter and nuzzled his nose in Draco’s neck, inhaling the scent of his lavender soap.

“I know…it’s just so…” Draco heaved a labored breath. “This isn’t a situation I was prepared for. I never imagined my life would be like this.”

Draco’s tone went from stressed to reverent, and Harry knew he would be okay.

“I know, but that’s why it’s rather brilliant, isn’t it?”

Draco turned in Harry’s arms and smiled softly before giving him a kiss.

 

***

 

Although there was some of the initial awkwardness Harry had forecast, tea went well overall. Narcissa became misty-eyed at the mention of the last time she and Harry had seen each other. Harry hadn’t really encountered her at the trial except from afar so he knew what she meant, knew what was on her mind as soon as he saw the softening of her eyes and felt the pressure of her warm hand on his. Draco pretended to be embarrassed by how Harry and his mother clung to each other in a weepy hug, but Harry saw Draco’s secret smile when he thought neither of them were looking.

 

***

 

After they parted ways with Narcissa, who planted kisses on both of their winter wind-chafed cheeks and made them promise to make tea a regular occurrence, the boys went back to Draco’s apartment. As they thawed from the cold with more tea and warming charms, Draco’s fingers idly combing through Harry’s hair, Harry gave him a solemn look. Draco’s forehead wrinkled, his lips parted in the beginning of a question, and Harry knew it was time.

He told Draco the truth about that night, about what really happened before he saw Narcissa. Draco stuttered his protest, eyes welling and lips quivering as Harry told him about the Horcruxes, about his cold and lonely walk into the forest, about King’s Cross, about the choice he was given, and about Dumbledore’s role even though he knew it would ignite threads of rage within Draco. Draco clutched him in a bruising grip, denouncing him as a “bloody headstrong idiot” as he cried so hard his whole skinny frame shook, the hot tears a mixture of anger and sorrow.

“I almost lost you.” Draco’s words were nearly swallowed by sobs as he buried his head in Harry’s chest. “I almost lost you before I even had the chance to…”

Harry held him and murmured reassurances into his hair, reiterating that he had no plans to put himself in imminent danger for the foreseeable future. He knew he couldn’t ward against whatever impediments fate might deal him later on down the line, but at least he could vow to not be the willing harbinger of his own doom for a while. Harry Potter could afford to be selfish about preserving his own life for once.

 

***

 

Winter melted into a balmy spring, and everyone emerged from their seasonal cocoons to mingle once again, the temperate climate breathing a collective sigh of relief back into London. The streets bustled with renewed energy, the outdoors no longer a combative force to contend with. Draco and Harry met Ron and Hermione for a stroll in Greenwich Park to see the cherry blossoms. Draco had rolled his eyes and chided Harry for dragging him along.

“Are we honestly taking a romantic stroll with Granger and the Weasel like a couple of elderly blokes who are one step away from hospice care followed by the grave? Please kill me now and spare me the trouble of doing it myself.”

“You’re still such a prat sometimes. Stuff it or I’m buying you liquid meals all week. You’ll need practice for the nursing home,” Harry had joked, laughing and dodging a playful smack on the arse from Draco.

Draco ended up enjoying the walk in the park immensely, just as Harry knew he would. At one point, Draco broke off from the group, hanging a few paces behind. Harry turned around, his eyes wandering over to see one of the most idyllic images of pure happiness he’d ever witnessed. Draco was standing in front of one of the trees, its branches curved toward the path they lined, shading the park bench situated twenty or so feet below the dangling blossoms. His chin was tilted skyward, his hands nestled inside the pockets of his stylish, form-fitting black trench coat, lightweight enough to comfortably protect against the lingering chill of late March. Cherry blossoms blew in the mild breeze, pink and white petals brushing past his soft cheek and falling at his feet. He closed his eyes and smiled, rays of sun peeking through the branches to warm his skin and glint off the strands of his pale hair. Harry pulled out his phone and surreptitiously snapped a photo of Draco before he could catch Harry in the act. Harry knew Draco still woke up in the middle of the night shrieking and trembling sometimes, plagued by the pain of the past that he couldn’t ever fully shake from his elegant shoulders. Both of them lived under the shadow of those events, but they’d also gradually learned how to find peace again, how to reclaim their lives for their own, bit by bit.

Harry stopped walking and Hermione and Ron kept on down the path, arm in arm and oblivious to the fact that their two friends weren’t following anymore. Draco opened his eyes at last and turned his head. They locked eyes and smiled. In that moment, they weren’t grizzled war veterans who had seen too much too soon. They weren’t mortal enemies who came from the opposite sides of the tracks. They were just two people in love for whom life had taken a very unexpectedly pleasant turn.

 

***

 

One May evening, Harry found himself the object of a rather unnerving stare from Draco. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry asked with a sidelong glance.

“No reason.” Draco shook his head and turned back to the MST3K episode, a seventies horror flick called _Pod People_ that was easily one of Harry’s favorites. The riffs were comedic gold the whole way through.

“Even the movie _The Fog_ didn't have this much fog!” Tom Servo joked as the camera panned over a forest covered with fog as opaque as rubber. Harry laughed and noticed Draco’s penetrating gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“Draccccooo.” Harry tilted his head in his direction and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Draco sighed and paused the show.

“Serious business?” Harry joked, but Draco nodded.

“Sort of.”

“Oh…okay.” Harry straightened his back and moved closer, the tingles of nervous anticipation descending on the back of his neck.

“I’ve been thinking…you and I are both filthy rich, and yes, we do have to figure out something to do with our lives eventually or we’ll both die of boredom. But right now, we’re still young. We’ll only be turning twenty this summer. Why don’t we make your dream a reality? Let’s travel. Anywhere you want for as long as you want.” Draco was trying to maintain an image of composure, shoulders squared and head held high, but Harry could see the subtle hints that he was nervous. His eyes were darting around a bit instead of fixing on Potter’s, and he rolled and unrolled the edge of his t-shirt in-between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

“ _Anywhere_ I want? What if I want to go spelunking in the caves of Romania?” Harry amicably challenged.

“Do stop being deliberately contrary, Potter.” Draco narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, alright, cave exploration is out. Damn…” Harry leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling. Where _would_ he want to go? The world had never been so open to him, and the prospect, while glorious, was quite daunting. “I don’t know if I can choose. I know nothing about anywhere, really.”

“Well, we can always take a little time to decide. Hermione doesn’t have classes right now. You know she’d be chomping at the bit to assist us if we asked. Poring over every bloody guidebook to Europe and reading every Yelp review for the trillion restaurants in New York City like it’s the most thrilling task.” Draco shook his head, but he was wearing a fond smile. When Harry didn’t say anything further, Draco’s unease returned, those long fingers fiddling with his shirt again. “So…is that a yes?”

“Of course it is. Did you really think I’d say no to the chance to shag you in as many countries as possible?” Harry beamed at him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Uncouth as always, Potter,” Draco stated with a sigh of disingenuous exasperation.

“Right because you _definitely_ weren’t thinking about that either.”

“Well, Northern Italy _does_ have a lot of picturesque scenery, Harry. It would be a shame not to put those lush fields to good use.” Draco smiled and snuggled against Harry’s chest.

 

***

 

“Are you sure you can handle trekking across America in trains and Muggle cars?”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, ‘Mione.” Harry rolled his eyes as he folded a pair of pants and tucked it into his rucksack. The plan was to start on the west coast and head east, ending at New York. From there, they would catch a plane to Italy, spending a week or so there before traveling to France by train. The whole itinerary was very loose. It was more rough guidelines than stringency. They wanted to be able to divert course and detour to anywhere that struck their fancy. “That’s part of the appeal. It’s adventurous but not death defying. Like Kerouac and Ginsberg.”

“Kerouac and Ginsberg were alcoholics and drug addicts who didn’t believe in editing the manuscripts they wrote during heroin binges!” Hermione gesticulated frantically with a huff.

“I swear that Draco and I will not come back to England addicted to heroin. What’s up with you? You were glad to help a few days ago.” Harry stuffed a couple shirts into the bag.

“I…you’ve never been so far away. Even in the summers between school years, you were only a short owl away. I feel a bit pathetically stupid about it, but I’m worried. I didn’t realize…” Hermione frowned and brushed a mass of curls behind her ear. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. It feels like the end of something. What if you both love it there and never come back?" 

Harry’s heart sank, and he abandoned packing to scoop Hermione into his arms. Hermione was so strong and capable that it was easy to forget she was human like the rest of them and needed consoling from time to time. She had always held it together in a way Harry admired and aspired to.

“Getting older is a bit of a racket, isn’t it?” He murmured.

“It certainly is.” Hermione laughed and gently squeezed him. Suddenly, she pulled back and speared him with concerned eyes. “You know I realize it’s your right to move away if you want? I didn’t mean to suggest you should stay in England forever just so I can have my best friend nearby. I’m only a little overwhelmed with all the changes lately. I’m done at Hogwarts, Ron is entering his second year of Auror training, you and Malfoy…everything is moving so fast. I wish I could will it to slow down for a little while.”

“I know what you mean. It’s equal parts exciting and dreadful.” Harry smiled and patted her shoulder.

“Really? So it’s not just me?”

“No, not at all.” They embraced again, and Harry decided to leave the rest of his packing for another day. They still had three days before their departure. Harry had only begun packing early at Malfoy’s insistence: “I will not have you being very Potterly on this point and tossing wrinkled shirts into a garbage bag an hour before we have to leave.” Harry had groaned but obeyed because he didn’t want to admit that Draco had pegged him 100% accurately.

But one night’s delay wouldn’t hurt. Harry went over to Hermione and Ron’s new apartment. No Draco, no Neville, no Luna. Just a quiet evening with the trio before they all embarked on new chapters of their lives, perched on the cusp of unknown frontiers.

 

***

 

_A few years later_

“Do you remember when we first got together, and we both said we felt as old as wizened hags despite still being teenagers?” Draco undid and redid his tie for the tenth time.

“I don’t think that’s exactly how I phrased it, but yes, I do.” Since Draco finally seemed satisfied with the knot and positioning of his tie, Harry handed him the jacket that was laid out on the bed.

“Since when are you one to quibble over semantics? My _point_ , Potter,” Harry grinned at that. He loved that after all these years together, Draco still used his surname when doling out sarcasm in an argument or indulging in the good-natured ribbing that was the axis on which the rhythm of their banter turned, “is that today, although I am seven years older and seven years wiser – ”

“I don’t know that I can verify the _wiser_ part,” Harry interjected as he straightened Draco’s lapels.

“You really should reconsider careers, Potter. Hogwarts can find someone else to teach Defense against the Dark Arts. Near constant laugh riot that you are, you were clearly made for standup.” Draco rolled his eyes and tamed an errant strand of hair on his blond head with a careful finger. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, _today_ I feel like I’m fifteen and someone is going to march in here any second to yank all this away from me. ‘What, you thought you were _allowed_ to start your own non-profit? You are a mere child who can’t be entrusted with the responsibility of your own care, let alone anyone else’s. We’ve come to collect you. You will not be accomplishing any of your dreams today or any other day.’”

“Draco,” Harry held Draco’s face in his hands and looked into his anxiety-riddled grey eyes, “You are whip-smart and tenacious. You are capable. You can do anything you set your mind to. This center was a brilliant idea, and the press has been abuzz about the opening for months now. People couldn’t stop talking about Luna’s interview. There will always be stubborn arseholes who want to see you fail, but they’re in the minority. The people who matter are proud of you and can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with this organization. It’s a new venture so there will be bumps in the road, but it’s going to be a marvelous journey and I am _so_ very happy I get to come along for the ride.”

Harry thought back to the first conversation they’d had about his boyfriend’s idea. Draco had been restless all night, something clearly on his mind, but it had taken a few drinks to loosen his lips. The two of them were sitting on the floor with their backs propped up against the couch as The Cure’s _Disintegration_ pumped through the speakers, both of them nicely tipsy from two strong gin and tonics each. Halfway through “Fascination Street,” Draco turned to Harry with a worried look and said “I have to tell you something.” Harry’s imagination went mad with the possibilities, but as Draco began to tell him what was on his mind, his face went from grave to jubilant. Draco became more animated as he went into more detail, encouraged by Harry’s enthusiasm.

At the time, Harry was due to join the Hogwarts staff for the next term. With McGonagall’s help, Harry had realized how much he missed the school, how even with its fair share of upsetting memories, it would always be home in some way. Reflection had led him to understand that leading Dumbledore’s Army in fifth year was one of the most satisfying things he had done. Teaching his peers to reach deep inside themselves to conjure their patronuses stirred a gratifying swell within him, and he was eager to impart his knowledge and skills to a new generation. And really, who had more practical experience defending themselves against the Dark Arts than Harry? When the position opened up, it seemed fortuitous, and McGonagall was delighted to have him on board. That combined with Draco beginning plans to open a center for LGBT+ wizarding youth seeking guidance and refuge made that night feel like a turning point. No darkness infiltrated the mood as they listened to records and chatted about their futures. They both felt untouchable, young and hopeful as they zealously plotted out their next steps.

It took over two years for Draco’s dream to come to fruition after that night. There were peaks and valleys along the way as Draco fine-tuned what the organization’s mission statement would be, what services would be offered, and what staff he would need to hire. Locations fell through and finding licensed clinicians and healers willing to work with a former Death Eater who was very young and making a risky business endeavor with little experience was hard. Draco wanted Muggle born wizards who worked in Muggle therapy as well as mind healers from the wizarding world. It was extremely important to him that wizards and witches of all backgrounds felt welcome. The center was about inclusivity, and Draco wanted that to be enacted in _all_ ways. There was no room for employees who were lukewarm on the goals of the organization. Eventually, he found people who were the right fit, people who weren’t jaded but were instead very keen to incite change and confident in their ability to help Draco usher it in.

“What if a pureblood kid like me comes out and is disowned by their parents for the idiotic ‘traditional’ reasons? What if they’re too young to go live on their own? Who do they turn to? I just think if there’s any way at all that I can help them feel less alone, I should do it. I know I’ve never run a damn thing in my life, but this…it _feels_ like something I’m equipped to do, something I understand, something I _need_ to do.” Harry had gazed up at his lover in awe as he passionately explained his drive to accomplish this, Harry’s eyes welling up as he kissed him over and over again.

Harry looked back at Draco now, all dressed and ready to take the world by storm, and he felt that same surge of pride and affection. The day was finally here.

“You always know what to say.” Draco beamed at Harry and leaned in to give him a soft kiss.

“Do I now? I’ll remember you said that the next time you ramble on about my verbal blunders.” Harry smiled, and Draco chuckled before pulling him in for a longer kiss. Harry moaned and then jumped back as he remembered something. “I forgot! I got you a present for your first day.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, especially since it almost overlaps with another really special occasion. Do you know what happened seven years and two weeks ago?” Harry retrieved a slender square package from behind the nightstand and walked back to hand it to Draco. Draco wrinkled his nose as he wracked his brain to ascertain Harry’s meaning.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea. Am I missing something important?”

“I think it’s important, _but_ I wouldn’t remember the date either if it weren’t for Hermione’s ridiculous memory for these things. So don’t feel bad. Seven years and two weeks ago, I walked into a certain record store and saw a very handsome gentleman behind the counter. I asked him to help me find a Slowdive record and tried very hard not to stare at his perfect arse as he sauntered off to get it.”

Draco’s cheeks grew pink at the memory. He slipped a finger between the folds of the shiny blue wrapping paper and tore a jagged line across the top. Draco pulled the record out, and his smile widened.

“It’s their first record – ”

“In fifteen years,” Draco finished, his gaze meeting Harry’s. “I saw it was coming out last week, but I’ve been too busy getting the center ready to have time for fuck all other than having five hundred panic attacks a day.”

“I know. I’ve avoided listening to it anywhere online. I thought we could both hear it for the first time when we get home tonight. I’ll cook dinner. Whatever you want.”

Draco gently placed the record on the bed and wrapped his arms around Harry, kissing the left side of his neck.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful. I’m thinking breakfast for dinner. A feast of epic proportions, enough carbs and butter to clog my arteries so I die before the center can fail.”

“I think I can manage that, but you’re not going to fail. You’re going to be magnificent. Call me if you’re having a meltdown at any point, okay? I love you.” Harry kissed Draco’s forehead as they disentangled their arms.

“Love you too. Wish me luck.” Draco turned around to give Harry a crooked grin as he prepared to leave.

“You don’t need it,” Harry responded as Draco Disapparated away.

Harry stretched his arms above his head with a sigh, easing the tension in his muscles as he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went outside to read _The Daily Prophet_ on their wraparound porch. Draco had left absurdly early, convinced that he couldn’t thwart potential calamities unless he arrived a good two hours early. As a result, Harry was awake far earlier than he needed to be as well. He didn’t need to leave for Hogwarts for at least another hour. Harry took a gulp of the strong black liquid and shook the paper open, smiling when he spotted the article about the _Malfoy Center for LGBT Youth_. Harry had fought him on the name.

“It’s too clinical though, don’t you think?”

“Potter, I’m not naming it anything cutesy. No queerness jokes or references to Sappho. Can’t a name just describe the actual business for once instead of being some nausea-inducing pun like all those coffee shops that open only to disappear in a year’s time? We’re a serious nonprofit not a trendy vegan restaurant.”

Harry had assented in the end, and now he had come around to the idea. Draco was right. It didn’t need a snappy name to stand out. With Draco at the helm and the Malfoy name on the building, it was distinguished enough.

Just then their neighbor, Penelope Abram, trotted out with her twelve-year-old son, Colin. As usual, they were both a bit of a chaotic mess, still pulling their arms into light jackets and nagging each other the whole way down their front walk. Harry chuckled under his breath as he heard her pronounce Colin a “ragamuffin in intentionally torn jeans…blimey, people will think I don’t take care of you!” Colin winced as she fussily straightened his hair only for him to defiantly muss it all over again. He spotted Harry and waved. Penelope turned around and waved at Harry with a smile as well. Harry waved back, and then they were barreling toward their car, both of them remembering how late they were. Draco and Harry enjoyed having them as neighbors. Penelope was a sweet mother, and Colin was at that willfully contentious age that was hilarious to watch. They sniped at one another, but it always eventually turned round to laughter. 

Harry watched the car pull away from the curb and admired the late spring sun. The flowerbed of crocuses across the street in Mrs. Ainsworth’s yard were in full bloom, and the small herb garden Draco had planted in theirs was lush with basil and rosemary. They had only purchased the house about six months earlier, but it already felt like home. Draco was in full pernickety interior director mode, vetoing every initial suggestion of Harry’s before slowly coming to a compromise a few days later. Hermione had balked at their decision to buy a house together despite their shared disinterest in marriage.

“It’s legal now, you know,” she’d said with a frown.

“Ah yes, and the legality must have been the only thing holding us back from the chance to blend in with the breeders. Honestly Hermione, you’re the most academically well-read feminist at the table here, and you don’t understand why maybe the notion doesn’t appeal to either of us?” Draco had conveyed a little sharply. Harry knew Draco was tired of fielding similar queries from his mother, and Hermione jumping on the bandwagon was starting to make him feel like he was being backed into a corner.

“I know I’m being terribly traditional. I like the idea of it, I suppose. I can’t help it.”

“You like the idea for _you_ , and I understand that. Our names our going to be on the deed to a house. He puts up with my sardonic mouth, and I put up with his irredeemable hardheadedness. Last night, we bickered about whether or not garlic naan is worth an extra $4 on a takeout order for a solid ten minutes and followed it up with a seriously boring twenty minute discourse on the appropriate film to accompany chicken tikka masala. We basically _are_ married, Hermione. This is good enough for us for now.”

Harry had snort-laughed into his teacup at that. It was true. It _was_ good enough for them. They were committed and devoted in every single way. Neither of them particularly fancied the amount of attention drawn by a frivolous ceremony in which two people promised to be clairvoyant. They’d both had enough unpredictable events in their lives to feel a bit foolish making vows like that. They knew that would sound terribly sad and unromantic to Hermione so neither of them cited those reasons in her company. Maybe someday, on holiday in a quaint, discrete little French village, they’d quietly tie the knot alone with only a local heavy-accented priest and some country goats as witnesses. But for now, they were both happier than they’d ever thought possible.

Draco loved to snark on their quiet domesticity (“Are we really shopping for curtains together? Let’s hurry up before someone sees me and tarnishes my reputation.”), but Harry knew he adored their life. Both of them had been sprung from such chaos that having a measure of stability was a welcome comfort. Besides, it wasn’t as if Draco didn’t still do things like drag him into the flailing pit of a Lightning Bolt show, surprise him with an impromptu weekend trip (ever since their months long trek that first year of their relationship, they’d made it a personal goal to check off every country and city that piqued their interest), and take their sex life down new, uncharted paths that Harry could never predict. There was a balletic grace to their life balance that neither of them had ever thought they could achieve. Harry sipped his coffee and watched the sun expanding above the rooftops, shading their London neighborhood in radiant, warm light. He smiled and wondered when the first charmingly panicked text would arrive from Draco. He didn’t fully know what was in store for them, if their newly chosen careers would last or if they would move on to something else and fulfill new desires they hadn’t known they possessed. But for the first time in a long time, the unknown future didn’t scare Harry one bit.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone wishing they had gotten a glimpse of Harry and Draco's trek across the states and Europe, but that felt sort of like it would be a whole other story? Hope you enjoyed the conclusion! I wasn't sure if I'd been writing for this pairing again, bbbuutt they won't let me go for the time being so stay tuned. <3
> 
> And once again, here is where all my Drarry content can be found on the Tumblr-verse if you ever want to say hello: [It's meeee](https://dracoismytrashson.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ETA: A lovely reader requested a Spotify playlist of the music mentioned within this fic so I made one! Adding the link here in case it is of interest to anyone else. :) [Silver Soul Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E4vfs4KIdZdUJqF1cusJW)


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